More Than Words (Ambreigns AU)
by ringaroundtherollins
Summary: Roman Reigns is working his way through college at a local coffee shop where the mysterious Dean Ambrose comes in to play his guitar on Thursday nights. Roman can't deny his crush on the bizarre yet adorable guitarist. When Dean finally talks to Roman, they're both drawn to a world neither has experienced before. Ambreigns. Story #1 in my "To Love A Lunatic" series.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! So amid my other angsty fic (SHIELD), I really wanted to write a simple, fluffy Ambreigns-focused AU fic (maybe with some smut later on. :P) Not quite sure where it's going yet, but I wanted to share what I had thus far and get your opinion of it. Starts a bit slow, but I promise it'll pick up. Enjoy! As always, ratings and reviews are highly appreciated!**

 **PS; Wrote this between the hours of three and six in the morning. Apologies for any stupid typos or grammatical errors.**

 **PPS (is that the correct way to do that?); The name of the fic comes from the first song Dean sings at Java Central. "More Than Words" by Extreme. I didn't write those wonderful lyrics myself - they belong to the rock band!**

* * *

Roman Reigns's favorite day of the week was Thursday.

It was a good business day for Java Central because the little coffeehouse featured an open mic night the first and third Thursday of each month, gaining the cozy shop great business from enthusiastic hipsters and aspiring musicians on top of the multitude of college students the establishment tended to on a daily basis. Roman could appreciate a busy evening at J/C because it made the time fly by. But that wasn't why he especially liked Thursdays—in particular, those two special days of the month. He loved open mic night. Some of the performances were painful to endure, and others weren't too shabby. But one specific performer-slash-customer always managed to snag his attention during his two or three minutes on the makeshift stage, perched on a barstool, acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. Roman didn't even know why. Something about him was just so…so…he couldn't even find the right word to describe it. _Beautiful_ is the one he'd choose if it didn't sound so lame. Make him sound so pathetic.

But this singer, this guitarist—he never introduced himself by name, usually just sat down and strummed away with a velvety voice accompanying his gentle playing—had been faithful in attending every open mic night for nearly as long as Roman had been working at Java Central. Roman never saw him around campus. He didn't know if this guy was a University of Colorado student, or a college student at all.

But Roman liked him. Loved concentrating on the reticent soloist and his simple yet dexterous musical abilities.

Roman had a textbook open underneath the counter as he dragged a damp washcloth over the tile surface, trying to study _and_ clean up before the evening post-work/post-class rush and open mic night kicked off. Microbiology was tedious but certainly not grueling. He hadn't realized he'd been wiping the same spot of the counter over and over again until he heard someone clear their throat. He lifted his head and met eyes with his roommate Randy.

"Oh," Roman said, slightly embarrassed to be caught so off guard. "Hey."

"Distracted much?" Randy taunted.

"Got a big test tomorrow," Roman said.

"Which class?"

"Microbiology."

Randy imitated the act of gagging. Science was perhaps his worst subject. Roman had always offered to help him study, but it was clear Randy wasn't in college to excel in any of his science courses, or any courses for that matter. College to him was a money-draining, four-year party. Roman took his education a bit more seriously. He planned for a Bachelor's Degree in Health Sciences with a concentration in therapy and rehab. He was halfway there. If he was more motivated, he'd bust his ass to graduate next year instead of waiting two more. Work kept him from concentrating too hard on school. Or any other aspect of his life.

"Hey, what time are you off?"

"I'm closing." Closing shifts kept him hear until at least one in the morning on a guaranteed lively evening such as the one pending.

"'Kay. Just letting you know, I've got a double date with the Bella twins tonight."

"Which one do you get?"

"Both of them. I get two helpings." Randy grinned deviously. Roman pretended to be proud of his manwhoreish ways. He held out a fist in feigned consent and praise, and Randy bumped it with his own. Roman couldn't imagine what Randy would have thought if he knew Roman had what felt an awful lot like a crush on some _guy_ he didn't know.

"Score."

"So yeah. Fair warning if you wander in at any point tonight. Might be a little noisy."

Ugh. Roman wondered if he had anywhere else to crash tonight. He _totally_ wanted to respect Randy's privacy with Nikki and Brie Bella by staying far away from that apartment. "Thanks for the heads-up. Anything else you want while you're here?"

Randy's big brown eyes scanned the handwritten menu on the wall above Roman's head. "Yeah, go ahead and get me a Mt. Vesuvius Panini. Extra meatballs."

Roman rang up his friend's order and punched in his own discount for Randy. Before swiping Randy's credit card, the little golden bell on the door tinkled, and someone walked in lugging a leather guitar case. Roman's heart expanded as he looked over at the incomer, but it was some guy in a Fedora hat with a case much nicer than his musician's. _His_ musician's guitar case was obviously well-used with discoloration on the material, especially near the handle and the latch. His musician also never wore a Fedora hat, and his hair wasn't jet-black and curly. It was dirty blond and disheveled, not in a sullied way but rather blasé and desirable.

Roman liked to think of himself as incredibly observant and not pitiful and besotted.

If Randy noticed the look of disappointment brushing over Roman's face, he didn't say anything. Roman was glad. He didn't feel like composing a lie, or worse, telling the truth. He gave Randy back his card and set to work on his order.

In the five minutes it took to prepare Randy's Panini, more customers surged into the little coffeehouse. The line was nearly to the door, and more musicians were shoving through the mass to find a decent spot to sit and wait for their turn on the mic. Roman knew _he_ wouldn't be here until a few minutes after the performances began. He had a very specific routine. Roman had only caught onto it because of how often _he_ was in here.

Roman bagged Randy's order to go. Randy snatched the bag and gave Roman a wink. "See you later, then? Maybe?"

"Maybe." _Most likely though, nah_.

When Randy left, Roman jumped onto the second register and filled out order after order after order. He kept to himself, occasionally trading words with his coworkers to get drinks correct and made faster. When seven PM rolled around, the lights dimmed, and the manager welcomed the first open mic performer to the stage. It was Mr. Fedora from earlier. He cranked out Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water" on his electric guitar, AKA the song everyone and their grandmother knew how to play on guitar. Roman didn't know how to play guitar, but he was certain if he picked one up someday he could play it just as effortlessly as Fedora Guy did.

Between his performance and a hippie girl's—she was playing the Beatles' "Let It Be" on the piano in the corner and singing in a strong alto voice—the door pushed open, ushering a chilly draft into the cramped coffee house. Roman's heart rate hastened again, this time for a good reason.

He was here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter two for you, my darlings. More like a "chapter one: part two", since the first chapter was so long initially.. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

He stood by the door for several moments, as though moving anywhere at this point would disrupt the girl's song. He clutched his ragged guitar case. He was chewing on something, gum or whatever, open-mouthed but without smacking. He cautiously approached the counter. Roman's coworker Dolph nearly caught the order, but Roman darted to the register before Dolph made it.

"Oh," Dolph whispered, seeing who it was inching nearer. "Sorry, bro. Forgot this is your guy."

"Hardly."

"Yeah, you wish, right?" Dolph snickered and nudged Roman's shoulder, then moved back to his drawn-up chair on the other side of the counter.

He was wearing a leather jacket over a black muscle shirt tonight with very tight blue jeans. His black shoes were as tatty as his guitar case. But he looked good, damn good. His hair fell over his eyes. Roman never had the closeness nor the correct lighting to tell what color they were.

 _Be cool_ , Roman warned himself _. Chill_.

"How's it going?" Roman said softly, hands planted flat on the tile.

"Not too shabby," he said, voice almost a whisper. His breath smelled minty. Definitely gum. Not tobacco. Thank God. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty good, thanks." _Better now_. "Want your usual?"

"Depends. What's my usual?"

"Tall salted caramel mocha with an extra pump of caramel." _Does he think it's creepy I remember that_?

"You're good." He grinned in a way that let Roman know he was wrong. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"Anything else?"

"Nah, that'll do it, man. Thanks."

"$3.10. Can I get a name for the order?"

He rubbed his chin, which held faint traces of a beard. "'The Lunatic Fringe.'"

Roman stifled his laughter. Always the strange nicknames for him. Last time it had been 'Ambrose Asylum'; the third Thursday of last month, 'Dirty Deeds.' Roman figured he was an AC/DC fan. One of these days he'd get this guy's real name. "Alright. I'll bring it over to you when it's done." He didn't mention he knew where "the Lunatic Fringe" sat every week, because it never, ever changed: the corner table by the window. If that seat was taken, he'd sit closer to the counter. It wasn't taken tonight, unfortunately.

He handed over a ten-dollar bill for his drink. "Killer. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," Roman said. He hoped this guy couldn't tell how hard his heart was hammering, or how his hands were noticeably shaking. _Get a grip on yourself, Reigns, damn_.

He dropped his change into the glass tip jar—nearly a seventy-percent tip—then lifted his guitar case and moved to his table. He usually waited until the end of the night to finally get up there with his guitar. Roman never minded waiting. He made for a worthy finale. He never played any songs Roman recognized from Pandora or the radio or his own music library, but that was alright.

Tonight there were more performers than usual. Every time there was a small break between singers, pianists and guitarists, Roman wondered if—hoped that—"Lunatic" was next. Then someone else would hop onto the stage before he had the chance to even move. Roman killed the time by studying for his Microbiology test, listening in to the songs—on average they were all mediocre—and getting some cleaning done. At this rate it felt like the night would go to dawn and dawn would go to day before he ever got up there.

Finally, around ten when most of the crowd had dispersed, he rolled his neck, eyes inspecting for any further volunteers, then sauntered to the stage. He freed his unscratched instrument from its case and lowered himself onto the stool. He placed his pick between his teeth as he tuned the instrument. How could someone look so good tuning a _guitar_?

No introductions per usual. No name, no mention of the song he'd be playing, no invitation to check out his music or his band or his mixtape on a Facebook page or Youtube. He just plucked the pick from his mouth and strummed away.

Roman recognized the tune. He'd played it here before. He tried to catch onto the words, listening to his gentle and articulate voice. Microbiology, Randy and his girls, even the fact that he was at work and it was long past regular closing time—all that was far from mind. Nothing else mattered, nobody else existed in his world now, except _him_.

" _Saying "I love you" is not the words I want to hear from you_

 _It's not that I want you not to say but if you only knew_

 _How easy it would be to show me how you feel_

 _More than words is all you have to do to make it real_

 _Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me_

 _Cause I'd already know_."

He kept a beat for himself with his foot on the floor. Roman was one ounce of self-control away from cupping his chin in his palms, elbows propped on the counter, dreamily goggling with a stupid smile on his face. Instead he wrestled the ponytail holder from his head and combed out his long hair with his fingers, assuming he wouldn't be making any more orders tonight.

" _What would you do if my heart was torn in two?_

 _More than words to show you feel that your love for me is real_

 _What would you say if I took those words away_

 _Then you couldn't make things new just by saying "I love you"._ "

He tweaked each string with his eyes closed, bopping his head to his own beat. _Fuck_ , he was adorable. If only he wore glasses. Roman wasn't sure what was such a turn-on about them. But they were.

A five-minute song felt like thirty seconds. The remaining patrons clapped politely for Lunatic, and he ended his recital with a tip of an imaginary hat. The lights rose, and the manager thanked everyone for coming out and that the establishment hoped to see them all again in two weeks.

"Have a great night," Roman called to the couple out the door. He took apart one of the cappuccino machines and ran a white rag through each metal piece. It didn't take him too long to notice Lunatic— _God, I really need his name so I can stop calling him that_ —to notice Angelic Guitar Playing Guy— _oh yeah, much better, Reigns, you fucking wuss_ —arriving at the counter. He never did this. Usually just packed up his stuff and left with the others.

"Hey again," he said.

"Hey, yourself," Roman breathed. He racked his brain for a conversation starter. Anything. "You did really well tonight."

He beamed. "Thanks, man. So did you."

"Huh?"

"That mocha you made me was killer. I feel like you added a little extra _extra_ caramel just for me."

Roman had. How he'd detected that, he had no idea. "That good, huh?"

"Oh, you bet. I'd order another one if y'all weren't closing down."

Roman craned his neck. His manager was in his office counting money. Dolph was doing dishes in the back. "Tell you what. I'll let one more slide for tonight."

"Really? _Sick_ , man. You're awesome."

"Thanks. It's my area of study."

He snickered, his tongue gliding between his teeth. Now that the lights were on and he was standing close again, Roman caught onto features he'd missed before. How damn sexy that little tongue sticking out was. A tiny silver earring in the left ear. His blue-green eyes, the color of a tranquil sea. The dimples in his cheeks when he grinned like that. Roman had to turn away before he caught onto the very obvious fact that Roman was ogling.

"You in college?"

"Yeah."

"What's your real major?"

"Excuse you, awesome _is_ a real major. Right now I'm enrolled in Badass 204 and Kindness to Strangers 171." Roman grabbed the necessary ingredients for his drink.

"I feel like we need a Kindness to Strangers course in every university worldwide."

"Think a lot of people might flunk it. It'd be a waste of resources."

"Might be right about that, Roman."

Roman's name sounded delightful across his lips. For a moment he fell into idiocy, wondering how this guy had the advantage of knowing _his_ name. Then he remembered he was working. Name tag was a traitor.

"What about you?" Roman asked, seeking out an opening for more information. "You got a major? Other hobbies? Or even a name?"

"Name?"

"You never really introduce yourself. Just hop on stage and do your thing."

"Guess that's true." Half his lips raised into a smile. "Dean."

Dean. Simple but strong. Dapper. Handsome. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

"You too, Roman. I like your ink."

He supposed that's all he was getting out of Dean, for now. Oh well. It was progress. Roman noted the half-sleeve on his right arm. It extended to his chest, but his shirt hid most of that. "Oh, thanks. It's my family's tribal tattoo."

"Where you from?"

"Samoa."

"Oh." Dean nodded. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and he swept it away with a head shake. "Exotic. Very cool."

Roman seized the a near-empty bottle of caramel and drizzled extra sauce atop Dean's drink. Then he added whipped cream, then even more caramel.

"Ooh, you're trying to kill me, huh?" Dean asked, chuckling softly.

"Well, something's gonna do you in eventually. Might as well enjoy it if you can."

Dean laughed. "That's a fact. Caramel is one of my weaknesses. I'm gonna have to hit the gym pretty hard tomorrow."

"Oh, where do you work out?" Roman slid the drink across the counter to Dean. He had yet to pay. Roman didn't mind.

"My apartment's shitty fitness center. Composes of a flatscreen TV, a treadmill that works forty percent of the time, and the heaviest weights, my little niece could bench."

"That's a pretty shitty fitness center," Roman agreed. He still couldn't believe they were having an actual conversation after months of strangerhood. "You should try my gym."

"Should have known you work out too, with those guns. Where do you go?"

Roman looked at the dismantled cappuccino machine, pretending to wipe it down as a blush crept to his cheeks. "Sometimes I work out at UC's gym. Other times I tag along with my roommate at his gym. Lifetime Fitness, over off Briargate. It's a decent facility."

"Might have to check it out sometime."

"Hey, Reigns." It was Dolph. Roman knew he was busted. He spun around and saw Dolph lingering in the doorway, dish rags slung over his shoulder.

"Gonna make me close all by my lonesome?" Dolph jabbed.

"If you wouldn't mind."

" _Ha ha_." Dolph whipped one of the rags at him. "Cappuccino machine takes ten minutes to clean, at most. Move it, partner."

"Oh, yes, _sir_."

"I'm sorry to keep you," Dean apologized.

Roman waved a hand. "Oh, don't worry about it. He just likes to bitch about everything."

"Oh, I guess I should probably pay for this before I run off and rob you."

"Don't worry about it," Roman said as Dean reached for his wallet. "It's on me."

Roman caught a twinkle in his eye. "Really?"

"Yeah. My boss is counting money now, anyway. Can't have any more sales."

"Have I mentioned how awesome you are?"

Roman grinned, biting his lip. "Told you, it's my major. If I wasn't good at being awesome, I'm in the wrong friggin' industry."

"Least you'd get your thousands of dollars back. Hopefully."

"You coming back in a couple weeks?"

"You act like you know me so well, then throw a question like that at me." Dean clicked his tongue teasingly.

There was still a great deal Roman didn't know about this surreptitious guitarist. Still, he'd take this conversation over any other night where Dean just left. He wondered what made him stick around this time.

"'Course I am," Dean said at Roman's silence.

"Good, I'll be sure to order some extra caramel on our next delivery."

"Man, to hell with the mocha—just gimme a bottle and I'll guzzle it down plain."

Roman made a face, then laughed. "That's quite the weakness you've got."

"One of 'em. Not my strongest."

"Reigns, I swear to God I'm about to throw you into my dish pit!" Dolph's voice screeched.

"Geez, Dolph, _fine_ ," Roman sighed.

Dean grinned sheepishly. "Guess I'll see you around?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Good."

Roman walked Dean to the door to lock it behind his last customer of the night.

"Nice talking to you, Roman. We simply _must_ do this again sometime."

"Think we might."

Dean didn't offer a handshake or a hug. He tipped that invisible hat again and rolled out the door, case in hand. Roman watched him go, then locked the door.

"I'm gonna kick your ass, Ziggler," Roman said, pushing into the kitchen.

"Bring it!" Dolph cried over the rotating water in the heavy washer. "Oh, and before I forget. Roman and Dean sitting in a tree and all that."

"Bastard."

"You can't stop smiling, you freak."

"Shut the fuck up." But Roman couldn't deny that fact. His insides were buzzing. He did dishes at Dolph's side, not paying any mind to their condition at the end of the wash. He had a name now. Dean. How nice it sounded.

And they'd talked.

Progress had been made.

Not that Roman expected it to go anywhere.

Still. A gym rat like him could appreciate any and all forms of progress.


	3. Chapter 3

**WOW! I am ecstatic about the positive feedback this fic has received! Definitely gave me the passion and drive to keep it going. Here's the next chapter, where you learn a bit more about Roman, and a secret about Dean is slightly uncovered. Enjoy!**

* * *

Randy's time with the girls was already in full swing when Roman got home.

He didn't want to be there, but this late at night, he didn't have anywhere else to go, unless he wanted to bum around the Walmart open twenty-four seven. He'd have to crank some music up and shut Randy out. It wasn't like he wasn't used to this routine by now.

Randy had one of the girls screaming pretty loud. Listening closer—like he had a choice in the world as he moved from the kitchen to his bedroom—he heard two separate female voices. He was really with both of them at once? How was that possible?

Roman didn't want to know. He pressed his bedroom door closed and stripped of his stained work shirt, lazily flinging it towards a growing pile of laundry by his closet. He didn't work tomorrow after his classes. Maybe he'd catch up on laundry then.

He snatched his headphones from the desk. Instead of reaching for his iPod, though, he had another idea. Roman brought his laptop from the desk to his bed and pulled up Google. What were the words to the song Dean had sung tonight? Something something something, if you only knew, how easy it would be to…something something something…you love me…I already know…

It turned out those words were enough to find him the song. "More Than Words" by the rock band Extreme. He punched the song into Youtube's search bar, plugged his headphones into his laptop, and clicked the first result.

This was it, alright, though he had to admit, Dean's voice was much nicer than this singer's. It wasn't _quite_ loud enough to drown out Randy's triumph with the Bella twins, but if Roman closed his eyes and focused hard on the lyrics, he could pretend he was back at the coffeehouse, serving as a one-man audience for Dean. Dean sweeping his pick over the thick guitar strings, his honeyed voice resonating into the microphone, his oceanic eyes focused in on Roman, lyrics for him and him alone.

" _Now that I've tried to talk to you and make you understand_

 _All you have to do is close your eyes_

 _And just reach out your hands and touch me_

 _Hold me close don't ever let me go_ …"

Roman fell asleep smiling.

* * *

Snowflakes sprinkled from the swirling gray heavens like salt out of a shaker as Roman stepped out of Adams Hall late that afternoon. His Microbiology exam had been a cakewalk. He'd nearly laughed aloud at half the questions. _Which of the following do prokaryotes not contain? A nucleus, obviously. How about a challenge next time, Professor_? But he hadn't wanted his obviously struggling classmates to feel inferior, so he answered the questions at his own pace—much quicker than that of his peers—and turned the exam in with forty-five minutes to spare. Too easy.

He zipped up his black jacket and shuffled towards the parking lot as the ice crystals tumbled in whipping winds, smacking him in the face. Winter was due early this year. Thanksgiving was still weeks away. Colorado had a complicated weather system.

In spite of the weather, Roman wasn't ready to go home quite yet. He jumped onto the highway and took the next exit to downtown Colorado Springs. Escape Velocity was his favorite shop in the city. It was a clean, friendly comic book store with helpful staff who knew him by name at this point. Roman couldn't even hate how lame that made him sound. So he liked comics. So what? They were a great way to pass the time while he was riding the exercise bike at the gym. It wasn't like he had a workout partner, anyone to talk to whenever he went.

Parking was free on the narrow streets of downtown after five PM; even so, it was difficult to find conveniently open spots near his destination. Roman parallel parked behind a Corvette, in front of a giant Ford truck, two blocks away from Escape Velocity. The sun had stooped behind the distant mountains, and the temperature was dropping by the minute. Roman didn't mind the walk or the cold. That's what jackets were for.

Roma pushed past men leaving work, dressed in suits and clutching briefcases, and women in pencil skirts and low-cut blouses and leopard-print scarves. He awkwardly strolled past homeless citizens with shopping carts and overflowing torn backpacks. Downtown was an interesting scene. Diverse and dangerous. You never knew what to expect on these streets, especially at night.

Roman pushed the glass door open to Escape Velocity. A short, scrawny man with long black hair similar to his—though Roman's was thicker and not nearly as curly—looked up at him from the counter and gave Roman a welcoming smile.

"Hey there, Roman. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, Neville, how 'bout yourself?"

"Living the dream, dude. What brings you in tonight? Cable out?"

"I was wondering if you had the next edition of _The Walking Dead_ in yet."

Neville clicked his tongue. "I might. Lemme check in the back right quick." His thin figure swooped over the counter, and he darted towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. "Yo, Cody. Roman's in looking for the next _Walking Dead_. We have that in?"

"Uh…" an unsure voice came back. "Maybe."

Roman browsed the aisles in his wait, his fingers brushing over issues of _Doctor Strange_ and _Paper Girls_ and— _oh, ew, don't touch that one_ — _Identity Crisis_. One of the worst he'd ever read. He found it amusing how the comic from 2004 was still available for purchase, and marked down 60% off the original price. That was surely a bad sign.

Neville and his coworker Cody Rhodes surfaced from the back room together. Neville was upholding a delicate comic book swathed in shrink-wrap. "Technically this won't be released until tomorrow, but for our favorite customer, I think we can make an exception."

Thrill swelled in Roman like a balloon. "Really?"

Neville handed Roman the comic over, which he held as delicately as an infant. "Sure thing, Reigns. You're pretty much the reason we're still in business."

"Thanks, guys. That's really cool of you."

"Don't even worry about it," Cody said, waving his hand.

Roman paid full price for the new comic, as well as a black and red Deadpool shirt from the wall and a new Marvel comic, _Star Wars #5_. He knew Neville had hooked him up with a discount when the total was far cheaper than he expected. He made up for the price difference by throwing in something from the discount basket on the counter, a Ronan the Accuser action figure. _I am such a fucking nerd_. The only person who knew this, besides the kind gentlemen at this store—the only person who really knew Roman, really—was his not-exactly-a-friend Randy. Even so, Roman kept to himself with all things nerd and geek. Randy wasn't all about it like he was.

Neville handed Roman a great white bag bearing his purchases. The name of the store was printed in bold atop an image of a purple rocket ship.

"Thanks for coming by, Roman," Neville said.

"And hey, let us know if you're ever looking for work. You'd fit in pretty well here."

"I would," Roman agreed. Working here would be the perfect job. Getting paid to hang with Neville and Cody and talk nerdy all day. Wasn't _that_ the dream. It would make his college career more bearable, that was for certain. But he had no plans on leaving the coffeehouse just yet. He liked it there. For one reason and one alone, he _loved_ it. "I'll be back soon enough, anyway."

"Looking forward to it," Neville said.

Roman held his bag tight against his side and pushed into the brisk winter evening. He had to wait amongst a group of people for the light to turn green so he could cross and continue forward.

But something on the other side of the street apprehended his attention first. He wasn't going back to his car quite yet.

Even in the dark of evening, the hinderance of vision and movement in the freezing air, he'd recognize that guitar-playing cutie anywhere.

And it looked like he was in trouble.

A plump, bearded man towered over Dean, who sat on a snow-laced wooden bench outside Kali's Etiquette clothing store. His guitar case rested on the bench beside him. He sat rather casually for someone who was getting barked at, a foot up on one knee and his arms stretched out over the back of the bench. Dean said something in an easygoing manner. Whatever he said provoked the stout man to squat down so his face was in Dean's, bits of saliva casting from his mouth to Dean's face. Dean wiped the slobber away, his unconcerned manner unaltered.

Roman had to intervene. As calm and collected as Dean looked, Roman wasn't about to allow the situation to escalate. He jogged across the street in front of an oncoming Honda, who honked at him. Roman ignored the irate driver. The blast was enough to disrupt Dean and this nut job's conversation.

Dean's face seemed to light up when he spotted Roman approaching. "Hey, I know you!" he said. "What's good?"

"Hey. What's going on?" Roman asked.

"Who the hell is this?" the bearded rogue demanded. He regarded Roman with two soulless gray eyes.

"Hey, relax, Bray," Dean droned. "He's a friend."

"You okay?" Roman asked, looking down at Dean.

"Me? I'm swell."

"No, he's not okay," the beast—Bray, evidently—countered. "Mind your own fucking business."

Roman wasn't afraid of this guy. He'd been challenged before by scarier men. But Bray shifted his condescending glare back to Dean. "You're lucky you're even getting a warning from me, Ambrose. My boys aren't as nice as I am."

"They aren't quite as pretty, either. That's a nice shirt, Wyatt. You get that at the airport on your way home from Hawaii?"

"You're walking a fine line, kid. You think your little jokes and wits are gonna save your ass? We _own_ you, Dean. We own your _soul_." He pressed a stubby finger into Dean's shoulder on the emphasized words.

"Tell your 'boys' that there's no trouble. No problemo. I'll get 'em their money, and you all can go home sweet home back to Alabama or wherever you and Luke are allowed to get married."

Bray seized Dean by his shirt and lifted him off the bench, pulling Dean's face close to his own. Dean _still_ didn't look afraid. "Best not be talking that kinda shit around me, Ambrose. I know you. Everyone you've ever loved is a perverted fuck. You useless piece of shit."

Roman had had enough. He dropped his bag onto the ice-bound sidewalk. "Let him go," he said darkly.

Bray looked at Roman, not letting go of Dean, instead baring his disgusting reddish-brown teeth in a maniacal smile. "If you have half a brain, boy, you'd know to just walk away."

"Won't ask you again," Roman growled. "Let. Him. Go."

Bray chuckled softly. Then he swung a mighty fist into Dean's jaw. Dean's ribcage collided with the bench, then he slumped to the ground, groaning in pain.

That did it.

Roman struck Bray in the face with a hook of his own. Bray tottered backwards, dazed by the blow. Roman grabbed hold of his flower, touristy shirt and slammed him face-first into the brick exterior of Kali's. His pillowy figure collapsed to the ground. Roman set his foot on Bray's chest and rolled the man onto his back. He had a nasty gash on his forehead from the wall. Still crushing Bray's upper chest with a firm leg, Roman knelt down, snatched the neck of Bray's shirt, and hoisted him up. Now Roman was the one in Bray's face.

"If you ever hurt him again, I will find you and finish you off my fucking self. That understood?"

Bray's only answer was croaking exhales and rolling eyes.

Roman moved off him. He walked back to Dean, still on the ground, cradling his jaw and recovering from the hit. He stuck his strapping arms beneath Dean's and lifted him to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Roman asked.

Dean shook his head, not to respond with a _no_ , but as though he was shaking off the entire situation. "I'm fine. But shit, man. You must be acing Badass 204. That was _sick_!"

"Let's get out of here." Roman reclaimed his bag from Escape Velocity, and he and Dean stalked off down the street, leaving Bray Wyatt behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm spoiling you guys rotten with these quick updates, huh? :) Y'all deserve it. Days off are so nice. Anyway, here's the next chapter. A little bonding between your favorite boys, plus the introduction of another character. Enjoy!**

* * *

Roman took the long way back to his car. He didn't want to risk taking a wrong turn and running into that bastard Bray again. He walked on the street's side, on Dean's right, keeping Dean closer to the buildings.

Dean drew something from the pocket of his leather jacket. Roman realized it was an electronic cigarette. The vaporizer lit blue as Dean took in a deep drag, then cast out a sweet-smelling exhaust.

Roman frowned in disapproval.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked. The man who'd just been screamed at and assaulted by a deranged imbecile, asking _Roman_ if something was wrong.

"Shit's just bad for you, that's all," Roman said, not wanting to get preachy.

Dean chuckled. "So is living in general. Besides, they're better than the real thing. In taste _and_ health." He took another inhale, emitted the vapor turned away from Roman, then returned the e-cig to his pocket. "Hey, thanks again for, y'know. That."

"Yeah, no problem. What are you doing out here alone, though?"

"I play here a lot." Dean lifted and lowered his guitar case as evidence. "Makes a decent amount of tips."

"This part of town's pretty treacherous. The later it gets, the worse it is."

"Relax. I look out for myself. Sometimes my buddy comes with me, so I'm not _always_ alone. We'll chill for hours out here, listening to people tell their stories, playing music, getting a couple bucks for something to eat. It's only as dangerous as you think it is."

Dean might have been crazy. Hell, he might have been dangerous himself. But he fascinated Roman more than anyone ever had.

"You have a ride home?" Roman queried.

"My own two feet, man."

This guy was going to put Roman in the hospital with heart complications. In more ways than one. "Not that I don't trust you've got some hidden superpowers of your own, but after what I just saw, I think I'd be a little more comfortable giving you a ride home."

"I can appreciate that gesture on a night like tonight."

Roman waited for Dean to explain who the hell that Bray guy was, and why he'd been harassing Dean like that. Instead Dean's fixed look dropped to the bag in Roman's hands. "Escape Velocity? Isn't that that comic book store back there?"

"Yeah. I like comics." Roman braced for taunting.

Dean picked a snowflake from his dark blond mane. "That's cool. Didn't know anybody really read them anymore, but yeah. You a DC or Marvel guy?"

Roman's posture relaxed. "Marvel, hands down." Speaking of marvel, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Dean wasn't making fun of him. Was Dean like him, by some wonderful chance?

"Me too. They have way better movies. Loved _The Avengers_. I thought the sequel was better, but nobody really agrees with me."

"I liked both differently, but equally." Even if he was just a fan of the movies, and not a diehard True Believer—a nickname Marvel fans established for themselves —Roman could live with that.

"What else are you into?" Dean inquired.

"Um…" Roman wasn't used to talking about himself. He was more accustomed to listening to others prattle on about their own interests and accomplishments. "Comics, video games, school, working out…"

"So let me get this straight. You've got brawn _and_ brains? Damn, dude, you're pretty much perfect, aren't ya?"

Roman's heart expanded. "Oh, no. Not perfect."

"Well, you've got it all. You clearly know how to kick some ass, you probably have more knowledge of the world than most people. You're a college kid, you take care of your body, and on top of that, you're not bad on the eyes."

"Neither are you." The words escaped him before Roman could halt himself. His pace slowed, and his cheeks burned red against the frigid temperature. He hoped Dean couldn't catch onto it.

"Ha. Thanks. I've been told I have a weird face."

Roman scoffed. "Haters."

They'd arrived at Roman's car. Roman opened up the trunk for Dean's guitar case. The backseat of his Honda Civic was disorderly with textbooks, empty McDonald's cups and Monster cans, candy wrappers and papers torn from notebooks. He suddenly felt insecure about the condition of his car's interior. Not that he figured Dean would judge him for it. He just never knew what people would think of him.

Roman held the passenger door open for Dean. If he noticed the mess, he didn't say anything.

Roman pulled the door shut and cranked the engine on. The radio, currently tuned to a station that bragged about playing a "variety" of music, was playing a song by Florida Georgia Line.

"Ew," Roman and Dean said in unison. They traded smiles.

"Not a country fan?" Dean asked.

"No, sir. Guessing you're not either?"

"Unless it's Lynyrd Skynyrd, hell nah."

Roman carefully moved out of his parking spot and merged onto the narrow road among the slow-moving traffic. The streets were glossy and perilous with ice beneath the snowfall. He'd have to take the drive slow and steady. Not that he minded being in a car for such a long time with Dean.

Dean spotted Roman's collection of CDs crammed in the shelf on the door. "Oh, for real?" he asked, reaching for the stack. "What are these antiques?"

Roman chuckled. "Can't seem to let go of the past."

"With how shitty music is nowadays, I don't blame you." Dean inspected the CD on top of the stack, then moved it to the bottom to review the next case. "Still listens to CDs and still reads comic books. You're something else, Roman."

 _You're one to talk_ , Roman thought with an inward smile.

"Oh, _yes_!" Dean cheered, choosing a Led Zeppelin and jamming the others back into the shelf. "I knew I liked you."

 _Seriously, quit it with that. I will have a heart attack in this car and we'll both probably die_.

Dean stuck the CD into the player. The car filled with the band's song "The Ocean."

"Favorite genre?" Dean asked.

"Classic rock, if you couldn't tell," Roman said.

"My kinda guy. Top five favorite bands of all time?"

"Oh, geez," Roman laughed. "Why don't you just ask me to pick my favorite kid someday when I'm a dad?"

"Bet you anything it'll be your first kid. Almost always is."

He sounded a bit sad in that answer. Roman wondered what that was about. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, AC/DC, and Thin Lizzy."

"Sweet. You have great taste."

"What about you?"

"Hmm. Pepper, ZZ Top, Escape the Fate, the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and Pierce the Veil."

Roman had only heard of two of them. Pierce the Veil and ZZ Top, though he could only admit to really loving just one of the latter's songs: "Sharp Dressed Man." "That's cool."

Dean mouthed the chorus to "The Ocean" dramatically and strummed away on an invisible guitar. Roman merged onto the highway and kept the car rolling at a safe speed of 50.

"So," Roman said, plucking a thought and giving it verbal life. "Elephant in the room. Er, car. Who was that guy?"

"Who, Bray? Ah, just some guy who's been giving me grief since I moved to the city. He's adorable, isn't he?"

 _Wasn't my word of choice_. "Looks like he gives you a little more than grief."

"I'm not afraid of him. Him and his band of pricks, they got nothing on me."

"I just want you to be care—"

"I know," Dean interrupted, a bit more snappy than he probably meant to sound. With a sigh, he expressed, "You really don't need to worry about me, Roman. I look after myself. Been doing it for a while. And I have people…a person, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck, then shook out of his leather jacket. He must have been hot. The car did warm up quickly. Roman turned the heat down a tad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off like that. I just don't want you thinking I'm this dumb kid who can't take care of himself."

"I don't think you're a dumb kid," Roman insisted. He felt awful for prying. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he have just left it be? This is why he had difficulty allowing himself to care about people. It'd get to the point where he cared too much, and suddenly his feelings were nothing more than a bother to others and himself. It was why he was okay with having so few friends in the world. If you had nobody, nobody could hurt you, and more importantly, you couldn't hurt them.

"Thanks. Go ahead and get off on the next exit, it's not much further."

Roman was worried the rest of the car ride would be painfully awkward when Dean suddenly asked, voice light in tone once more, "Who's your favorite superhero?"

"Superman."

Dean scoffed. "Get out of here. Batman's _way_ better."

"You kidding? Superman would _stomp_ that little Goth." Roman loved Batman a lot, too, but he liked getting into this friendly debate with others. Especially someone like Dean.

"How's that?"

"Superman operates on a global level. Batman's used to using his gadgets and Batmobile and everything in the city of Gotham. But take the fight to a desert or a…I don't know, a rain forest or something, and Batman's shit out of luck. He's out of his territory. He's screwed."

"All Batman would need to do is load up a gun with kryptonite and bam, Superman's done for. Turn right up here."

"How the hell is Batman gonna randomly get his hands on kryptonite?"

"He's got people. They'll seek it out for him."

"In _space_?"

"Hell yeah, in space! Bruce Wayne could _own_ space if he wanted. He's _that_ rich and _that_ awesome."

Roman laughed.

"Take this next turn. It's this last building up here on the left."

Roman found himself in the parking lot of a shabby apartment complex. Dean guided him to the correct building, and Roman swung his car into a spot.

"You wanna come inside for a while?" Dean asked.

Roman's heart hammered. Were they ready for this? Was it too soon? "Uh…sure, that sounds good."

"My roommate's home."

"Oh."

Dean knew, he _had_ to have known, what Roman was thinking at the invitation inside. That little smile was so cocky, so cute. _Fuck_ , everything about him was just so irresistible. Roman was susceptible to his emotions, defenseless against this developing crush.

Dean recovered his instrument from the trunk, and Roman followed him up to the second floor. Dean stuck a key into the doorknob and jiggled it until the lock gave. "Piece of shit," he muttered, pushing the door open. Roman was met with the smell of incense. He stepped into the tiny, cluttered apartment behind Dean.

"Sorry for the mess," Dean said, not sounding very apologetic at all.

"Oh, I don't care," Roman replied.

"Hey, Seth! We're home."

"'We'?" came a voice from the back. A muscular guy poked his head out from a door down the hall. Half of his hair was nutmeg-brown, the other half, sunshine-blonde.

"Yeah. Roman, this is my buddy Seth Rollins. Seth, this is Roman."

Seth met them in the living room and took Roman's hand in a high-five-turned-handshake. "What's up, man?"

Before Roman could fire off his amusing response to that question—"gas prices"—the polite smile on Seth's face dropped. He took Dean's chin in a hold and turned his neck. "What the hell happened?"

A bruise had formed where Bray had struck him. "Oh. Uh…nothing?"

"Bullshit." Seth eyed Roman suspiciously, like Roman had played a role in Dean's injury. Roman supposed he didn't blame Seth for being wary like that, but he'd never lay a harmful hand on anyone unless it was to protect someone else. Case in point, Bray Wyatt.

"I ran into Wyatt tonight. He caught me off-guard. It was actually this guy that made him back down." He jammed a thumb in Roman's direction. "You want something to drink, Roman?"

"Uh, water would be fine, thanks," Roman said.

Dean darted into the kitchen around a corner. Seth looked up at Roman—Roman had him on height by a few inches—and pursed his lips.

"He had an altercation with Wyatt?" Seth asked.

"Yeah. I was downtown when I saw the two of them. The guy was yelling in his face, then just slugged him out of nowhere." He allowed himself the luxury of a boast: "I knocked the hell out of him for it, though."

Seth shook his head. "I hate that guy," he said softly.

Roman nearly asked Seth if he could provide any information on this Bray Wyatt character, but Dean returned with a tall glass of water. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

"So how'd you guys meet?" Seth asked. Dean sat down on the couch, Seth very close beside him. Roman stayed standing until Dean gestured to the empty spot next to him. Their hands were close when Roman was seated. He could almost feel a buzz between them.

"He works at Java Central," Dean explained. "Happened to be in the right place at the right time tonight."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Seth said. "Seriously. I wish I'd been there."

"Ah, you were working. I won't hold it against you."

"Where do you work?" Roman asked.

"I'm a mechanic over at Lighthouse Automotive."

"Oh, okay. Cool."

"Yeah, yeah, big strong mechanic lifting cars above his head all day," Dean said. "Speaking of Superman."

Roman felt a twinge of jealousy.

"You wanna stick around for a little while, Roman? You said you were a gamer. You like Halo?"

Roman wanted to stay. He had to be up for work in—he checked his phone—nine hours. He had the opening shift. He should have really gone home, gotten to bed early, but somehow that sounded like the worst thing in the world he could have done right then. Maybe an hour or two wouldn't hurt.

"Love it," Roman said.

"Seth, you should order us a pizza."

"Sounds good," Seth said. "Got a preference, Roman?"

"I'm not picky."

"Good. Neither are we."

"Supreme it is!" Dean called.

Roman stayed for much longer than he meant to. The boys wolfed down the pizza twenty minutes after it arrived and switched from Halo to Gears of War to Call of Duty (not Roman's favorite, but he joined in and had fun with it anyway), then back to Halo. Around eleven o'clock, Roman prepared to leave when Dean asked if he'd stay for a movie.

"We have all the Marvel ones," Dean coaxed.

Roman couldn't say no. Couldn't resist that face.

Dean made it through the first half of _Iron Man 2_. He fell asleep leaning against Seth's shoulder. Roman stared forward, eyes burning into the screen. He didn't want to stay and watch Dean sleep soundly against Seth. But he couldn't just leave in the middle of the flick. That was rude. He made himself stay, battle his exhaustion, battle his jealousy, until the credits rolled.

"Think I'm gonna head out," Roman said, pushing himself off the couch. It didn't make much of a difference, but he picked up his paper plate and napkin and carried them to the kitchen to throw them away.

Seth met him in there, carrying his own trash.

"Listen. Thanks for being there when you were, Roman. I can't tell you what that means to me."

"It's no problem." Roman glanced up at Dean, whom Seth had left on the couch to sink onto a pillow. It was a better sight than Dean curled up cute and sleeping on another guy's arm. "Who is Bray Wyatt? What's his issue with Dean?"

Seth bit his lip. He looked uncertain of the answer—or very certain, but ambiguous on whether or not to admit it. "It's a long story. We should probably save it for another time. Dean can fill you in. It's his business, not my own. I just lend a hand whenever he needs it."

"He's a little reckless," Roman said, smiling to tell Seth it wasn't an insult.

"Yeah, I know it. He's in this young and wild and free mentality. Thinks he's stronger than everyone else." Seth looked back at the sleeping Dean. Roman read the look as longing, downcast. Seth had feelings that were more likely than not unreciprocated, or at the very least not nearly as strong. It was what he gathered from their interactions with one another earlier on, the face Seth had on him now. "I love the guy. He's got his issues, but who doesn't? Anyway." Seth cleared his throat, looked up at Roman again. "Thanks again."

"Sure."

"We'll see you around?"

"I'm thinking so."

"That'll make Dean happy. He needs more people in his life."

* * *

Roman ignored the sock on Randy's doorknob. As though he _really_ needed an alert to what was happening behind that door. Sounded like a different girl, and just one this time. At least this one wasn't a screamer, whoever she was.

He knew he should have gone straight to bed, but he had a new comic to enjoy first. He plugged his headphones in and listened to "More Than Words." Not from Youtube, from his own library—he'd purchased the song earlier this morning before class. The words filled his mind as he dove into the next edition of _The Walking Dead_.

But he couldn't quite focus on these characters.

He gave up trying to concentrate on the story after a little while. Dean wouldn't leave his mind. This was ridiculous. Nobody had ever gotten to him like this before. Not any of his exes, even AJ whom he was convinced he'd marry someday (before he caught her in bed with his former roommate Phil, hence why he now lived with Randy.) He hadn't sworn off love, per se, but it agitated him that he'd left himself feel this way about someone else after all that happened.

But he wasn't _letting_ himself.

He couldn't win this fight for anything.

He was losing against those eyes, those arms, that voice, that laugh, that personality. Every little tiny factor, every fragment of a disposition that banded together to create one imperfect yet sublime human being.

Dean Ambrose.


	5. Chapter 5

The holiday season was chaos.

If Roman wasn't in class—he was enrolled in five courses this semester, something he knew he'd appreciate come senior year, but hated himself for presently—he was working. If he wasn't working, he was studying or doing homework or trying to catch up on sleep to gain himself the energy to work/study/do homework. In times like these he was relieved not to be a social butterfly with many friends to see and things to do with them. He'd feel bad for how many people he'd have to blow off, plans he'd end up canceling after making them, because of his schedule.

He didn't see Dean at all.

Roman couldn't blame him. Perhaps Dean had a schedule like his; hopefully not quite as hectic, but the guy had a life. Roman still knew very little about it, about Dean in general. He seemed to be the type people liked to be around. Besides, even if Dean bounced into the shop while Roman was working, Roman certainly didn't have time for a good conversation, let alone a few hours reserved specifically to hang out with him outside his role as a student _and_ a barista.

Still. It would have been nice to see him at _some_ point before the third Thursday night.

Roman was stoked. His fatigue couldn't obstruct his good mood. It was Thursday again, _finally_ Thursday. He could, and would, see Dean tonight. His paranoia tried to set in on him. _What if Dean doesn't show up tonight? What if you have to wait even longer to see him_?

He exiled those thoughts. _Fuck you, anxiety_.

"Are you high?" Dolph asked him that afternoon as he and Roman tidied up the empty dining room. Business was dragging today. The weather was nasty, frigid and glacial with four to seven inches of snow predicted in the morning's weather forecast. It was nearly six o'clock, and Colorado seemed intent on meeting the meteorologists' estimates.

Was his gaiety that obvious? "Nah. Just in a really good mood."

"Because your boy's coming back?" the blond goaded.

"Definitely ain't like that." Roman wiped up a puddle of spilt hot chocolate and threw the cup away the patron—most likely an overprivileged college kid—had left behind after overturning the drink.

"Yeah, yeah. You _so_ weren't all over him a couple weeks ago. You're lucky Curtis was preoccupied that night, or else it would have been both our asses for closing so late."

"What was wrong with him?"

"He and his wife had gotten into it earlier that day. Typical married-people crap. Don't try to change the subject on me."

"I'm sorry if I don't feel comfortable driveling on about my personal life."

"Aw, come on, Roman. If you like the guy, you like the guy. You don't have to tell me what he's wearing when you close your eyes and picture him, but respect yourself enough to know that what you want is what you want, and you deserve to be happy, no matter what anyone else thinks."

"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for life coach Dolph Ziggler."

Dolph grinned. "You know I'm right."

"Speaking of relationships, how are you and Lana doing?"

"We're pretty good. Her ex is kind of a prick who can't get over her, but we deal."

Customers trickled through the door over the next hour. No amount of snow and frost could keep Java Central's most faithful customers, most dedicated of mediocre musicians, away. Roman recognized several of the regulars, but he wasn't too thrilled to see one in particular.

Nikki Bella approached the counter, her chest bulging beneath the fabric of her tight black t-shirt. She was hot, he'd give her that. She offered Roman a Crest-supported smile and greeted him, "Hey, Roman."

His response was flat. "Hey."

"Brie and I missed you the other night." She cast some hair behind her broad shoulder. "Randy got spoiled rotten."

"Yeah, sorry to miss out on that. I was working."

"We'll have do it again sometime. Hate for you to miss out on all the fun."

"What can I get started for you, Nikki?" Nikki and AJ were friends back in the day. Had been, anyway. He wasn't sure what their situation was now.

"Don't be grouchy."

"Just doing my job."

Nikki simpered. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened between you and AJ, but you shouldn't swear off dating just because one bitch decided to screw up something wonderful. There are some stellar women out there. Trust me." She leaned further into the counter, rapping her long nails against the tile.

"I've got a line, Nikki."

"I'll give you a line."

What did that even mean? "Behind you. I have other customers to handle."

Nikki frowned. "Roman. You've gotta let me help you sometime, okay? Don't shut me out."

 _You've gotta let me serve my customers, woman_!

"I'll take a white mocha frappe," she said at last. Her posture seemed to straighten, her chest retracting. "Extra whipped cream."

"You got it." He didn't want to be rude. Nikki wasn't a terrible person. She just came on too strongly towards people she barely knew. Roman didn't care to get to know her on a level past potential friendship. Hardly anyone qualified for that level of care, anyhow. By his choice alone.

He handed the order off to Dolph, then called out, "I can help whoever's next."

Nikki stepped off to the side, defeated.

Roman plowed through the rest of the customers. Most of them had claimed spots in the dining room by now, occupying most chairs and surrounding nearly all the tables. Dean's usual table was still empty, as was his backup spot near the counter. Roman couldn't stop watching the door.

Curtis tapped the microphone just as the lights subdued. "Hey, everybody, thanks for coming out tonight in spite of this terrible weather. We really appreciate you all."

 _Meaning "we really appreciate your money"_ , Roman thought.

A young guy in a blue UC hoodie, glasses and a green beanie took the first slot. He told the audience he'd written this song for his fiancee and their unborn baby. The crowd swooned over him. What a romantic gesture, writing her a song.

Not a shabby idea.

Roman wondered if he should take a crack at it. How hard could it have been?

He looked towards the door as Beanie Man cleared his throat and kicked off his jovial melody.

 _Stop staring. He won't get here any faster if you're constantly watching._

 _If he gets here tonight_.

Roman made one more order himself during the song. Cleaned an already fairly tidy counter. Leaned against the counter, listened to the song. Pretty standard romantic baby-I-love-you lyrics. Rhyming "girl" and "world", "heart" and "apart", "right" and "tonight." Roman rocked his head to the beat. Even if he did write a song, he'd have no way of playing it—or singing it. He couldn't stand his own singing voice.

Still. It'd be fun to try.

Roman grabbed a napkin from behind the counter and fished a pen from the cup near the receipt printer. So far he had a couple of lines in mind that he wanted to work with.

 _Watching, waiting, wondering, weakening_

 _For the things that might not be_

 _For the things I've yet to see_

 _Hoping, hurting, hurrying, handling_

 _The feelings that rise_

 _Feeling buried alive_

It was…alright. Maybe a punk song, heavy metal. He didn't want it to sound too emo nor too pathetic. He spun the pen around his thumb, debating the next verse.

"Hey, Superman, where's my caramel?"

Roman's head raised. Dean was on the other side of the counter, smiling in an almost baleful way. But Roman knew by now Dean was probably not antagonistic. Deranged, perhaps, but not depraved.

"Dean."

"Hey, you."

"Hey yourself." They had to keep their voices low. This song was going on forever, much like the love the singer expressed for his family within the lyrics.

"Whatcha got there?" Dean asked.

"Oh, nothing." Suddenly gauche and awkward, Roman slid the napkin under the counter and replaced the pen in the cup. If he ever showed this song to Dean, it would be completed and edited six or seven times first. "Glad you made it."

Dean scoffed. "Takes more than nearly a foot of snow to keep me out of this place." Tonight he wore a black vest over a plain white t-shirt, blue jeans and his tennis shoes, like he was rebelling against the weather. No jacket, no boots. Not even gloves. _This crazy guy_ …

"Want your usual, bud?"

"You know it." The song ended. People clapped. Their voices rose to a normal volume.

Roman rang up the salted caramel mocha. "Anything else?"

Dean stroked his chin as he considered his options written in dry erase marker. "Hmm. I'm feeling a little adventurous tonight. Hook me up with a blueberry muffin."

"You got it. I made those myself this afternoon."

"Really?"

It wasn't really something to be proud of, but Roman smiled with a nod. "Yep."

"In that case, cancel that order. You might have poisoned it or something."

"Curses. Batman foiled my plan to eliminate all my customers tonight."

Dean poked his tongue between his teeth. _Holy Lord have mercy_. "Actually, I'll take two of 'em."

"Why? Are you expecting someone?" _Please say no_.

"Nah. I'm a growing boy."

 _Phew_. Roman typed the order into the computer. "So I've got two blueberry muffins, and a bottle of caramel, add coffee."

Dean laughed heartily. _That_ was something to be proud of. Roman beamed. "Comes to $10.74."

Dean handed him a twenty. "You been keeping busy around here?"

"Yeah, around here, around school." Roman dropped Dean's change into his waiting hand, which he immediately turned over, dropping all of it into the tip jar. "This time of year gets to be pretty hectic."

"Sorry to hear that. At least you get a break soon, right? Thanksgiving and all?"

"Sorta. School's out, but I'll probably be here all week." He turned away for a moment to fix Dean's drink. "Except that Thursday, obviously."

"Got any fun Thanksgiving plans? Or is it the standard friends and family?"

"No, and actually, no."

"No?" Dean gasped. "How come?"

"My family's in Florida. And it's tough financially to get out there just for one day, especially with my schedule." His cousin Dwayne was on vacation in Bermuda, so a Thanksgiving dinner with him was out too.

"Damn, dude, that really blows. What are you gonna do then?"

Roman shrugged a shoulder. "Hang out. Play games. Eat some food." He imagined Randy wouldn't be at home much that day.

"By _yourself_?"

"It's nothing I'm not used to." He reached for the bottle of caramel. He'd made sure he had a full one ready to go for Dean's arrival.

"Nuh-uh. Nope. I refuse to accept that. If you don't have anything else going on that day, you're spending Thanksgiving with me."

Roman's heart fluttered. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yup. Me and Seth. You can come with me to his family's house. My clan all live in California, so I don't have anywhere else to be, either. But Seth's parents are really cool."

Roman liked the idea of seeing Dean on the holiday. Even if he had to share Dean's attention with others. It sure beat being alone. He was flattered by the gesture. "That's really nice of you, Dean. We'll see, okay?"

"Seeing is believing, my friend."

"The hell does that have to do with anything?"

Dean shrugged, outstretching his arms. "I dunno. Hurry up with that coffee, would ya? I have a show soon."

"One cup of caramel, coming up."

"Many thanks, good sir." Dean snatched the cup and took a drink as he lugged his guitar towards the table by the window. Roman had hoped he'd choose the seat near the counter, near him.

 _Ah well. At least he's here_.

Once again, Dean was the last performance of the night. He plopped onto the barstool and, incredibly, spoke into the microphone. "I'm Dean and this is Annie." He stroked the top of the guitar. "She's my baby."

He'd name it? That was endearing.

Dean cleared his throat and strummed the intro to a song Roman immediately recognized. The Eagles' "Hotel California." Roman loved the few times he actually knew what Dean was playing.

He wondered if this had anything to do with their bonding over classic rock the other night.

" _On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair_

 _Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air_

 _Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light_

 _My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim_

 _I had to stop for the night_

 _There she stood in the doorway;_

 _I heard the mission bell_

 _And I was thinking to myself_

 _This could be Heaven or this could be hell_

 _Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way_

 _There were voices down the corridor,_

 _I thought I heard them say…_ "

Roman couldn't resist singing along quietly to himself. Dean's vigor was contagious. He was having a blast with it. Self-assurance powered his voice. The notes carried through the entire shop.

 _Wonder what it's like to be that confident_.

Dean grinned, tongue out, at the end of the song. Roman clapped louder and harder and longer than anybody else. He tipped an invisible hat, then jumped off the stage.

"That was killer, dude," Roman said, borrowing one of Dean's favorite words as Dean approached the counter.

"You thought so?"

"Of course. That one's one of my favorites."

"Mine too. Do you know what the lyrics mean?"

"No clue. You?"

"Nah. I don't think anyone does. The band itself said something like, it's about a journey from innocence to experience."

"Hmm. Well, if that's what they say."

"Listen, you wanna get out of here?"

Roman's breath snagged in his throat. "Where to?"

"I know just the place. Cozy little locale. Assuming you're not sick to death of coffee yet."

"Sure, that sounds great." Reality reintroduced itself once the avidity wore off. "I have to close up here, though. Might be a while," he noted, grimacing.

"That's no problem. I can wait."

"You will?"

"Sure, I will. I've got Annie with me. Can't be bored."

 _Wow. Maybe I was wrong. He's sounding pretty perfect about now_. "Where will you wait?"

"In here if I'm allowed. Out there if I'm not." He bent his neck in the direction of the door.

Roman frowned. "Do you have a coat?"

"Yeah. Oh, wait, do you mean do I _own_ one, or do I have one on me right now?"

"Do you have one _with_ you, smart-ass."

Dean snickered. "Just the vest."

Roman sighed. It was apparent then he'd never fully understand how Dean's mind worked. "I'll try to get you permission to chill in here. Wait here."

Roman disappeared into the back. He knocked on Curtis's open door.

"What's up?" his manager asked.

"Hey, I was wondering if my buddy could chill in the dining room while he waits for me. He doesn't have a coat, so I hate making him wait outside."

Curtis looked up at Roman from his paperwork, eyebrow arched. Was this really the craziest demand in the world?

"He won't make a mess," Roman promised. _Maybe_.

"I…guess? But tell him next time to come prepared, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, Curtis."

"Would this buddy happen to be your boy?" Dolph called from the dish area. Roman pretended he hadn't heard him. He wanted to power through tonight's close, and Dolph's jabs wouldn't slow him down. He had a date with Dean.

Was it a date? It sure felt like a date.

He humored himself for the time being. Yes, it sure was.


	6. Chapter 6

Roman wished he had different clothes to change into for this "date." Something a little nicer than an open-collar black shirt with slacks to match and his jacket. A nice outfit for any formal occasion, but the shirt was stained at this point and reeked of coffee beans and sweat. But he didn't want to drive all the way home just to change, so he accepted how he looked. He freed his mane of its hold in a hair tie, shaking it loose. It made him feel a bit nicer.

Dean rode shotgun again and guided him to a breakfast diner called the Wayside Cafe. According to the store hours painted in yellow on the front window, the place was open until two in the morning. Roman realized once inside he and Dean were the only customers crazy enough to visit the diner so late at night, and in this terrible weather no less.

He liked it.

A cute hostess, hair pulled into a high ponytail, practically skipped towards Dean. "Well, look who's back!" she greeted. "We've missed you around here."

"Sorry, sweetheart. Been a little busy as of latterly."

"Shoot, that's a bad excuse." She swatted his arm playfully. Her sparkling chocolate-brown eyes contemplated Roman's existence. "And who's this?"

"This is Roman. We're painting the town red tonight. Roman, this is my girl Naomi."

His girl?

"He wishes," Naomi stated, hand on her hip, smacking her lips. "Hi, Roman. It's very nice to meet you."

"Pleasure," Roman said, shaking her hand delicately. Her nails were almost as long as her fingers. He hoped he wouldn't have to sit here all night listening to them play cute with one another. _Am I seriously jealous? Seriously_?

"Who's in tonight?" Dean asked.

"Just me, and Zack in the kitchen."

"Ooh. Sorry to be a cock-block here tonight."

Naomi laughed thunderously. "Let me show you guys to a table," she said through her chuckling.

She led them to a booth near the back. Roman's phone buzzed in his pocket. He drew it out to turn the vibrate off. It was a message from Randy. **My boy, where u at? Bella twins over again. Double trouble!**

He returned the phone to his pocket, feeling the napkin with his partial song scribbled on it crinkling against the force.

"And what can I get you boys to drink?" Naomi asked, placing two menus in front of them.

"Got any Patrón?" Dean queried.

"Shit yeah, but not for you, Ambrose. Don't want another Cowboys incident."

Dean snickered. Cowboys incident? With Naomi? This guy had quite the history. But perhaps that served as a point tonight. First dates were usually a get-to-know-you routine. Dean was an enigma, a gift, and Roman wanted to take his time opening him up.

"I'll just take a water, sweetheart."

"And for you?" Naomi asked Roman.

"Water's fine. Could I get a coffee too, please?"

"Addict," Dean accused.

"Any cream or sugar?"

"Black is fine, thanks."

"You've got it."

Dean made a face. "Ew. You drink it straight black? That's like getting popcorn with no butter or salt."

"Guess you wouldn't understand. Your precious mocha is about four-hundred and fifty calories and fifty-six grams of sugar. Not counting all the extra caramel you add."

Dean smirked sheepishly. "Told you. It's a weakness."

Roman's lips twisted into a helpless smile. Everything about him was so damn charming.

Naomi returned with the drinks before Roman could even crack the menu open. "You know what you guys want?"

"Yeah, if we could go ahead and split the breakfast sampler platter?" He looked to Roman and said, "Covers the bases for all your breakfast needs. Don't worry. It's delicious."

"I trust you," Roman said.

"One breakfast platter coming right up." Naomi didn't fail to touch Dean's arm—bare since the ditz didn't have a coat with him—before walking away.

"She seems nice," Roman said, blinking away the jealous blaze.

"Oh, yeah, she's incredible. I met her about the same time I met Seth, right after I moved here."

"How long have you lived here?" Roman asked, tearing through one thin layer of wrapping paper.

Dean's cheeks puffed with air as he pondered the answer. "About a year now. More or less. Used to visit all the time, when my brother was attending the Air Force Academy. Fell in love with it. In spite of its crazy weather."

"And crazy drivers," Roman added.

"Why do you think I walk everywhere?"

"Seems safer to drive among crazy drivers than to walk among them."

Dean grabbed a jelly packet from the little metal rack and peeled back the plastic top. "I'm kind of a danger junkie."

"I've noticed. How did you meet Seth?"

"Let's talk about you." He scooped a glob of jelly onto two fingers and spooned the sweet chunk into his mouth. Roman shouldn't have found the behavior as quirky and amusing as he did. "What are you studying in college?" he questioned before swallowing, then helping himself to another scoop.

"Health Sciences."

"Oh, that's cool." Dean finished off one packet and reached for another. Maybe it was a bit juvenile, perhaps outlandish. But it was so…so…Dean. "So, you gonna be a doctor, or what?"

Roman was being unwrapped as well. He was still adjusting to the strange concept of someone's interest in _him_. "My concentration's in therapy and rehab."

"Ah. So if dumbasses like me get fucked up in a street fight or something, I can go to you, and you'll make me all better."

"Essentially."

Dean licked his fingers clean of jelly. Roman broke into a chuckle.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I get it now. Caramel isn't your weakness, it's sweets in general."

"Guilty." He smirked. "Does it bug you?" He must have been referring to the raw jelly consumption.

"Nah. Don't know why it would."

"Oh, good. I was scared of making a bad first impression." Dean shoved the empty packets to the edge of the table for Naomi to collect.

"You've done really well in that area so far."

"So it's about time for me to ruin it, right? Show you the real me so you still have a chance to walk away?"

"I'm not interested in walking away." He mustered just enough strength to admit, "I want to keep moving forward."

Dean pursed his lips. Oh, _shit_. Roman knew that look. He tensed up, ready for the blow.

"Roman, I'm a—"

"Okay, one breakfast platter," Naomi said, right on cue to disrupt their moment, as uneasy as it had felt. "I went ahead and divided it up onto two plates, since everything comes in twos with this one."

"Thanks, Naomi." Something in his tone was different. What was wrong? Had Roman crossed a line? This was over before anything really began. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

"Can I bring you guys anything else?" she asked. She was too friendly. Only a character flaw in a moment like this one.

"I think we're good," Dean said, looking to Roman for confirmation.

"Yeah," Roman concurred. "Thanks."

Naomi eyed the jelly packets and gave Dean a look. "You're so weird!"

"Tell me something I don't know."

Naomi walked away instead of taking Dean up on the dare.

"You were saying?" Roman asked just as Dean lifted a thin piece of bacon to his mouth. He didn't want to hear it, yet he did, all at once. _Here it comes_.

Dean temporarily lowered the bacon. "I'm a weird guy, Ro." He tapped his chest with his strong fingers. "Beneath this somewhat-appealing exterior is a world of whack. In here," he said, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "A conundrum. I'm not a book you can flip through and figure out completely. Hell, _I_ don't even know what I'm thinking half the time."

Roman bit the inside of his cheek. What was his point?

"See…" Dean pressed his palms together and moved his hands from fingers pointing towards Roman, towards the ceiling, and back again. " _You're_ the type of guy that someone like me—or anyone, really—could take an interest in. College student. Working part-time. Likes comics and rock music and Halo. Me, on the other hand? Not so much."

Roman scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm kind of a freak, in case you haven't noticed? Anyone who cares to get to know me finds out pretty fast that I'm not like most people, if _anyone_ else in the world. They don't like to be around someone who doesn't even know what's going on in his own head." Dean sighed, picking up the bacon again. "Just saying, it's not too late if you wanna skip out on whatever it is we've got going on right now. I think you're great. _You_ are worthy of someone's interest. I'm just an oddity." He chomped down on the bacon with a crunch.

Roman reached across the table and took Dean's left hand in his own. He didn't miss the small smile on Dean's face. His heart was about to rupture. He wasn't usually the one to take initiative like this. Not with others.

" _I_ am very much interested in you."

"Don't get to hear that very often. Could you say it again?"

Roman strengthened his hold on Dean's hand. "I'm interested in you. As a person, as a friend, as…" He didn't want to use any other words, any more fervid words that pertained to a relationship beyond that of a friendship. "If you're worried about freaking me out, don't be. It really takes a lot to rattle me. If you wanna take this, whatever this is, slow—if that'll make you feel better—then I'm all for it."

Dean popped another piece of bacon into his mouth with his free hand. " _That_ is nice to hear. Eat your eggs. They taste like ass when they're cold."

Roman had to let go of Dean's hand to eat. But he felt good. Really, really good. He'd just torn a thick piece of wrapping paper off his gift.

He was looking forward to opening the whole thing.

Two muscular men, especially one as buff as Roman, tended to be naturally quick eaters. Dean shoved an empty plate away just minutes after diving into the meal. "God, that was good," he sighed. "What'd you think?"

"I think I'd order another one if we weren't about to get booted," Roman said.

"Is it two already?"

"Almost."

Dean snapped his fingers. Who _did_ that anymore? "Shoot."

"How was everything?" Naomi asked, making another appearance.

"Horrible. Godawful. I wanna talk to your manager. I wanna call corporate," Dean said.

"You're an ass."

"Yeah, and butter's in the dairy family. Welcome to life."

Naomi laughed loudly again.

"Let me get it," Roman said as Dean reached for his wallet to pay the bill. The guy had paid twenty bucks for some muffins and a mocha tonight. It was time to play gentleman.

"Really? You're sure?"

"Otherwise I wouldn't have offered."

"Look at you, being all sweet. You must be acing that Kindness course."

"I'm pulling through with a solid C+. It's a prerequisite for Altruism 202, so passing is kind of a big deal."

Roman waited while Naomi gave Dean a tight goodbye hug.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" she requested. "Come back and see us again soon."

"I'll try."

"It was really nice to meet you, Roman." She surprised him with a hug of his own. She smelled of flowers and vanilla. "You come on back too, okay?"

"Sure," Roman said. He felt bad for feeling so envious and spiteful towards her before.

Dean shivered and howled when they got outside. "Woo! Hello, Colorado!"

"For the love of God, here." Roman slipped out of his jacket and draped it over Dean's shoulders. He seemed stunned, his actions suddenly slowing.

"What about you?"

"I've got around two-hundred pounds of muscle to keep me warm."

"Thanks, Ro."

Roman adored that little nickname. He wished he had one for Dean. But how could he further shorten a one-syllable name?

The ride back was slow and steady. Weather conditions weren't improving or worsening at this point. His car rolled slowly over the slick streets. A Cream song called "Sunshine of Your Love" soundtracked the drive in ironic fashion. Roman had to turn the radio down when Dean's phone rang. Who could be calling him so late?

"Hey, Seth."

Ah.

"No, I'm on my way home now. No, I'm with Roman. Took him to Wayside. Well, he took me, I guess." Long pause. Roman caught an eye roll. "Yeah, because the Wyatts love hanging around cute little breakfast diners, Seth. No, I'm _fine_. I'll be home in a few, okay? Bye."

Unfortunately Dean didn't live far from Wayside.

"I love Seth more than anyone, but he's so _paranoid_."

 _Me and Seth are in the same boat_. "I'm sure he just cares about you a lot. With someone like Bray Wyatt in your life, I don't blame him."

"He means well. But I'm not a kid. Y'know?"

"I do know."

Dean turned the music back up, keeping the beat on his knees.

"Final destination," Roman said, pulling into his apartment complex. "All passengers must exit."

"Walk me to the door?"

"Sure, I'd love to."

Dean grabbed Annie out of the trunk and carried her up the flight of frozen concrete stairs. Before reaching for his key, he slowly lowered the guitar case to the ground and wrapped his arms around Roman's neck. Roman hugged him back, holding him tight.

"Thanks for being there," Dean said.

"Anytime. I mean that."

Dean released him. "Guess I'll see you around?"

"I'll be around."

"Good night, Superman."

"Night, Dean."

The door opened before Dean could unlock it. Seth stood there, ushering Dean inside. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Glad you made it safe."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, moving past Seth in the doorway. Seth looked up at Roman. His look was so uncertain. Was he disappointed to see Roman again, or could he have cared less?

"Thanks for driving him. Guy needs a car, I keep telling him."

"It's no problem. 'Night."

Roman trailed back to his car. He touched his pocket, where his unfinished song awaited him. He had some ideas on how to finish it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, my darlings! I am so very sorry about how long it took me to update this story. I was in a slump with it for a little while, starved for ideas, and I didn't want to put out just any random crap for the sake of bringing y'all an update. I wanted it to be my very best, and the best for these characters. But here I am, pumped with some great ideas for our boys. To make up for the delay, I gave you a longer chapter with a special moment for Dean and Roman. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Someone got in late last night." Randy's deriding was the first thing Roman heard the next morning. He was in the living room in front of an episode of _The Simpsons_.

He crossed into the kitchen to hunt for breakfast. A grocery shopping trip was long overdue. "Yeah, I went out after work." It was all Roman would disclose on the subject. "Where're the girls?"

"Went over to their place last night. You should have been there." Randy's vain smile stretched across his oval-shaped face. "Twins, man. It's awesome."

Roman smiled weakly, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"You really didn't want in?"

"I'm not really into Nikki. Or her sister." The milk in the fridge was expired. With a grimace, Roman tossed it into the garbage bin and settled on a pop-tart instead.

"You'd have to be gay not to be into Nikki Bella."

"Would it be a problem if I was?" Roman raised.

Randy's demeanor changed from mocking to neurotic. "No, no, not at all. I don't judge." He cleared his throat. "If that's your thing, man, then cool, whatever."

Roman was done with this conversation. "Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Flying out to my parents' place on Tuesday after my last class. Coming back Sunday afternoon."

That would make for a lonely time at the apartment. Roman should have been relieved—no rattling walls, no moaning women at one in the morning—but it was a little doleful as well.

He considered Dean's offer.

"What about you?" Randy asked.

"I can't afford a trip out to Florida right now. Even for just a day, it's not really worth it."

Randy winced. "Sorry, bro. That's too bad. But hey, you'll figure something out."

Roman bit off a chunk of pop-tart. "Thanks." Maybe he already had.

Randy went to work later on, and Roman had the place to himself. He killed time on his precious day off with comics, an episode or two of _24_ , and studying his song, wondering whether or not it was good enough to show to Dean yet…or if it ever would be.

He frowned when his phone buzzed and work's number popped up on his screen. How could they possibly need him in today? It wasn't snowing anymore, but shovelers and plows were still trekking down each street to secure them from hazardous ice with salt and sand. The sun made a noble attempt to pierce the swirling gray clouds, but early winter was dominant.

Roman answered anyway. "Hello."

"Hey, buddy. How goes it?"

"It goes well, Dolph, how are you?"

"Bored as shit, dude. Haven't had anyone in all day. Well, _almost_. Couple friends of yours swung by a little while ago looking for you."

"Friends?" Roman's nose crinkled at the word. Who could have been in to see him?

Unless…

"Yeah, Dean, is it? Him and some other guy with wonky hair."

"Dean came in to see me?" He couldn't even fake indifference. "Did he say why?"

"Nah. He didn't say much. But he did leave his number for me to pass along to you. Said it was way less creepy than me giving him your number without your awareness."

Roman didn't view it as creepy at all. But he listened carefully as Dolph recited Dean's number. He memorized the digits after hearing it once. He had an excellent memory.

"Thanks, Dolph. Glad you were there."

"I understand you better than most people, Ro. Whether you see it or not."

The nickname didn't sound quite as savory in Dolph's voice as it was across Dean's lips, but Roman appreciated his respect and benignity.

"Thanks, Dolph."

"Go call him up, Rome-no." A pause, then a snicker. "That was supposed to be _Romeo_ , but your name, like Roman, but with the O—"

"I got it." Roman laughed. "Good one, Tony Robbins."

"Hey!"

After hanging up with Dolph, Roman typed Dean's number into his phone and pressed the call button before his anxiety convinced him this was a terrible idea. His heart hammered against his ribcage with each long-drawn out ring.

"Hell-oo?" Even over a phone call, his voice was celestial.

"Hey, Dean."

"Roman, my man! Wazzup?"

"Not the temperature, that's for sure. What kind of loons get out in this kinda weather?" he teased.

"I told Seth your caramel mochas are worth it."

Roman would have been a puddle on the floor if Dean had said seeing _him_ was worth it. But as the creator of the exemplary mochas, he still felt flattered.

"But you weren't there!" he accused.

"Sorry, I get Sundays off."

"Nah, that's cool, though. Glad you get at least _one_ day off a week."

"What's up with you, D?" Roman wished he hadn't said it. D? What sort of lame-ass nickname was that?

"Actually, me and Seth were wondering if you wanted to come with us to Zodiac."

"Zodiac?"

"It's a dive bar downtown. Sorta close to your comic book store. Seth and I go down every once in a while to catch up with friends, have a drink, dance around. It's a nice place. I'd love to have you there."

Dean was good at making Roman feel like the most important being in the world.

He'd never been to Zodiac, or any clubs for that matter. They'd never been his cup of tea. He much preferred Escape Velocity, or his own cozy home. But with Dean, he'd have a great time. Maybe he needed a night to unwind and unbend. Yes. Yes, he certainly deserved it.

"I'd love to," he answered.

"Awesome!" Dean said. "We can pick you up from your place, if you want. You live close to the college campus, or…?"

Roman gave Dean his address. "Killer. We'll grab you around seven, a'ight? On Sundays it's half-off drinks after six."

"Sounds fun."

"See you tonight, Ro."

Roman kept the phone pressed to his ear long after Dean hung up, already missing his voice.

It didn't occur to him until much later on that he didn't know what to wear to Zodiac. Did you dress nice? Dress down? Would jeans and a t-shirt, his stock outfit, suffice? He had to wait until Randy got off work to get his answer. Randy went to a lot of clubs. He would know of anyone. He was a social gathering virtuoso.

"Hey," he greeted Randy in the living room. "Quick question. What should I wear to Zodiac?"

Randy unbuttoned his blue Go-Mart shirt and flung his name tag onto the dining room table. "Um, a shirt that says 'I don't belong here'?" he ribbed. "Didn't think Zodiac was your scene."

"It's not," Roman admitted, "but some friends invited me to go with them tonight. And I don't know what to wear."

"It's a pretty casual place. Jeans, nice top, maybe a sleek jacket on top. Wanna browse my closet?"

"No, thanks." No offense to his roommate, but Roman would probably rip anything of Randy's he tried to pull on or squeeze into. Randy was much smaller physically than Roman was.

After a quick shower and shave, Roman thumbed through his clothing collection three or four times. This was his chance to dress up nice and suave for Dean. Dean deserved to see him outside a grubby apron with his hair drawn back. He finally selected a tight black t-shirt with a large silver Superman "S" logo on the chest, the only pair of jeans he owned without any sort of holes, tears or frayed leg holes, and a gray jacket. He realized in that moment that Dean still had his heavy coat. As long as Dean brought it along for his own sake, Roman didn't care how long Dean held onto the jacket. He looked pretty damn good in it.

Roman combed his hair out and applied gel, sprayed cologne on, and slipped into a low-rise pair of boots. _I'm such a girl_ , he thought with a grin. He couldn't even care. Dean deserved him at his very best.

Inspecting his full figure in the closet-door mirror, Roman had to admit he liked the way he looked. Mature, older, dashing. But something was still missing. He still appeared a bit…insipid.

What was missing?

Roman pulled from his bedroom and knocked on Randy's door. "'Sup?" Randy called from within.

Roman pushed the door open. A hardcore rap song pulsed from Randy's laptop. Randy peered up from his bed, from whatever he was looking at so intently on the computer.

"I feel like something's still missing," Roman said. He felt a bit helpless when it came to fashion advice.

Randy put his finger to his lips, scrutinizing Roman. Roman tried not to feel so self-conscious about it. "Got it," Randy said with a snap of his fingers. He pushed off his bed and flipped opened up a watch box on his nightstand. "C'mere."

Roman obeyed. He allowed Randy to accessorize him with a faux leather analog watch, a dog tag necklace, a double wrap bronze ring bracelet, and a white-gold ring with a fake diamond lodged in the center.

"Look at you," Randy said, frolicsomely slapping Roman on the shoulder. "You're fuckin' pimpin', dog."

Roman had to laugh. He might have agreed with Randy—he really did like how he looked, and his confidence was mounting as a result—but he'd never been described in that way before.

"Thanks, bro."

"So, is this a date, or...?"

"Nah. Just a night out with some friends." Whether or not Randy believed him didn't really matter. Roman had no idea what to expect, but he was ecstatic. He couldn't wait to see Dean.

"Right on."

The apartment doorbell buzzed two minutes after seven. Roman checked himself out once more, probing hard for any flaws. _Glad I don't do this all the time. Must be exhausting keeping up with appearances on a daily basis_.

He opened the door.

Dean regarded him with a smile that warmed him against the frosty air. Roman watched his eyes scan him from head to toe.

"Damn, you clean up nice, Superman. For real this time," Dean said, referring to the symbol on Roman's shirt.

"Thanks, man. You don't look so bad yourself."

Dean was wearing Roman's coat over a blue button-up shirt, not one button fastened, and that over a white muscle shirt. Dean sure had a lot of those kinds of shirts. Not that each one didn't look great on him. As many shirts as he owned, he seemed to wear those same tight blue jeans with every outfit. Not that _those_ didn't look great on him, either. He wore cowboy-style boots over his feet.

"Thanks. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Roman stepped into the brisk evening and pulled the door closed behind him.

Seth was waiting for them in a black Camaro. "Sweet ride, man," Roman complimented. He was delighted with Dean crawled into the backseat with him.

"Thanks," Seth answered. "With how much money I sink into her every month, she _better_ look good."

Roman smiled. He towed the seatbelt over his shoulder as Seth pulled out of the parking lot. Dean hadn't bothered doing the same. He sat unbuckled, unsafe, in the seat next to Roman. "So how've you guys been?"

"Not bad. Working hard, living life one day at a time. How 'bout you?"

"Same. Working hard, going to school, _trying_ to live one day at a time. But it's way too easy to get ahead of myself."

"Tell me about it. So Dean says you might be coming to my family's place for Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, uh…" Roman suddenly felt chagrined. He hoped Seth wasn't under the impression he'd tried to invite himself over. He didn't want to barge in on any sort of exclusive family time.

"Seth doesn't mind that I invited you," Dean said. "He's good with it. Right?"

"Oh yeah, man, I don't mind. My family's kinda lame, so I hope they don't scare you off with embarrassing stories."

"I'm sure they won't. I really appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all. I felt bad when he said you might be alone."

Roman looked over at Dean, who was drumming an unknown beat on his leg. He still hadn't buckled his seatbelt. Was Seth aware of this? Would Dean feel like a child again if one of them told him it was better to buckle up?

He decided to play it off as a joke rather than condemnation. "You're really not afraid of anything, are you, Dean?"

"What do you mean?" Dean queried, keeping the beat to whatever song was evidently playing in his head.

"If Seth crashes this car, you're gonna go flying out the window."

Dean scoffed. "Seth never crashes. His car is his baby. He'd never let anything happen to her, or me."

"Still…"

"Save it, man," Seth droned. "I can't get him to wear that thing for the life of him."

"But why?" Roman asked.

"Because if I wore it," Dean said, "I couldn't do stuff like this." He slid into the middle seat, his arm touching Roman's now. Roman swallowed hard, his insides buzzing.

"Here," Dean said, carrying on his abrupt mawkish behavior by taking Roman's hand and drawing his arm over his lap. "There. You can be my seatbelt."

Roman was too enamored to argue with Dean about it anymore. He caught Seth rolling his eyes with a simper in the rearview mirror. The matter was let go. Roman only hoped Seth would take the drive exceptionally heedfully.

Dean held Roman there for the entire drive.

Zodiac was only a couple of blocks from Escape Velocity. Roman knew the area well. The bar had its own parking lot, so there was no need to park on the side of the street and take any sort of walk. Dean moved out of the car, and Roman already longed for his touch again.

Seth held the door open for both of them.

Most of Zodiac, Roman discovered, was based underground. They were checked for ID in a dingy, smoky lobby, then Roman followed Seth and Dean down a lengthy set of stairs. Purple, blue and white lights glinted in the otherwise dark atmosphere. The venue was set up in the style of a theater: a stage on the far side of the floor where a "DJ" made the premises quake with music from a laptop; a wide-open space wood floor in front of the stage for dancing; a carpeted area taking up the other half of the floor with tables and chairs. The bar was set up across the floor in a corner and took up a great deal of floorspace on its own.

It was smaller than Roman had been expecting. Less crowded, obviously, because of the time, day and weather. It couldn't have been more perfect.

Dean took a long drag from his e-cig. Roman didn't want to judge him for it. "Welcome to Zodiac," he said.

A song Roman recognized replaced the dissonant pop song that had been blaring: The Wanted's "Glad You Came." Dean apparently recognized it too as he declared, "Oh, I love this song! Let's dance, Ro."

"Sure, but I'll warn you right now, I am a horrible, _horrible_ dancer."

"This ain't _Dancing with the Stars._ Nobody's gonna be judging you."

"Especially not Mr. Two Left Feet over here," Seth teased.

"Giiiirl," Dean said, breaking into laughter. Seth called something about ordering drinks out over the music. Roman didn't have time to answer him before Dean led Roman onto the dance floor. Roman counted his lucky stars that they weren't the only ones dancing to this song, but Dean had a funny way of making him forget about the world around him anyway.

Dean swayed his hips side to side and took Roman's hands, raising them high above their heads. How someone could be uprightly charming and innocently adorable, _and_ alluring and tantalizing, altogether at once, was an enigma to Roman.

Roman was concerned Seth was going to feel left out, but glancing up, he saw Seth was already engaged in conversation with two girls at a corner table. He'd be fine. Roman focused on Dean and Dean alone.

Suddenly Dean shook his head. "Jesus, Roman."

"What's wrong?" His brain tensed for a needless panic attack.

"I just can't get over how good you look tonight. I mean, not that you don't always look good to me, but…I don't know. It's different tonight."

Roman smiled in the flashing lights. "Thanks. I was hoping you'd think so."

"You get dressed up all nice and pretty for me?" Dean asked, grinning up at him.

"Well, yeah. You're worth it."

Dean sniggered, his tongue gliding between his teeth. "Damn. Got me blushing in this club and shit. That never really happens to me."

Roman didn't want to spoil the moment by running his mouth. He let his hands speak for him. As the chorus played, Roman moved one arm gracefully behind Dean and settled his hand on the small of Dean's back. His other hand ever so gently caressed Dean's cheek, swiping away some of his hair. Their hips swung in unison, motions reflecting one another. Roman's hand moved from Dean's cheek to his mouth, his thumb tracing over Dean's bottom lip. Dean let out a shaky breath. Was he as nervous as Roman was?

This felt so good. So right.

Dean had been glancing down towards Roman's body, towards the floor, until Roman gradually tilted his chin and anchored his gaze into Dean's oceanic eyes.

Dean bit down on his trembling lip. "Roman, there's something you should know."

"What's that?"

"Being with me…it isn't easy. For anyone."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember what I said about me being a puzzle to everyone? Kind of a kook?"

"Yeah?" Were they going to have the same conversation twice?

"It's more than that. Danger has a way of finding me, no matter where I'm hiding. It's my story, my past…it has a way of catching up to me, and I think it's only fair that you know the truth about me."

"Whatever it is, Dean, I'm here."

Dean shook his head. "It's unbelievable how much I like you, how much I want you. One minute you're just a guy making me mochas, the next, you're here in my life as someone I never thought I'd know, someone I never thought I'd have the honor of…"

Roman knew for absolute truth he felt the same way—and, much like Dean, he was rather startled at how quickly everything had fallen into place for him like this—but for someone as unfathomable and unforthcoming as Dean, this was a much bigger shock to hear.

"I only say this because you deserve to know what's happening. I really hope I'm not scaring you."

Roman shook his head. "Of course not."

His words didn't seem to comfort Dean much. "I don't want you to get caught up in my bullshit, Roman."

"Dean, you can't tell me how much you want me, then try to drive me away. I don't care how enigmatic you are. I don't care what you've done in the past. I don't care what this big secret is you're so scared of telling me." _Or if that Bray Wyatt guy has anything to do with this_. Roman believed it did. "I want _you_ , Dean. All of you. All of you means the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful."

Were those tears welling in the corners of Dean's eyes? "You don't know me, Roman."

"I want to," Roman insisted.

"I tried telling myself, it's not a good idea, get away from him, protect him by staying the hell back. But it's hard to resist you, Ro. You're really something else. You actually act like you give a damn about me."

"It's not an act. I _do_ give a damn about you."

The song had ended long ago, replaced by a slower, bluesy tune, but Dean and Roman remained on the floor, close, within each other's touch.

"And see, that's not the shit I'm used to. I'm so used to people _not_ really caring, that it's weird someone does."

Roman entwined Dean's fingers in his own. "Come on. Seth loves the hell out of you. And Naomi? You've got people in this world who definitely do."

"The only one who really knows me is Seth, and he plays a big role in my story. It's scary opening up to anyone."

"I know how that is. You never know how they're gonna react. You're afraid they might shun you after you've opened up your heart to them."

"Exactly. You get it."

"I have anxiety," Roman admitted. "I tend to overthink things. But if there's one thing I want to promise you here tonight, Dean Ambrose, is I am not going anywhere. I will never leave you as long as you allow me to stay."

"I want you to stay," Dean said in a way as though speaking the words was punishable by death.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Dean couldn't say. Roman felt he'd never know until he got Dean's story. But he was in no rush. All he wanted was for Dean to know Roman was a rock. Roman would never abandon him, judge him for anything, forsake him in any time of need.

And he wanted to prove it.

Roman pushed Dean's chin up again and pressed his lips firmly against Dean's.

He felt Dean sink into the kiss. He pressed back, hard, aggressive, passionate. The music faded into soft nothing. The bar patrons disappeared like ghosts. Dean's tongue slipped from his mouth into Roman's, darting and swirling like a playful eel to all sides of his muzzle. So close to him and only wanting to get closer. Roman could feel Dean smiling.

Roman had to break the kiss, come up for air, but _God_ how he hated himself for it. As he drew back, Dean let out an exasperated breath. He looked dazed, as though he'd fall over any minute.

"What's the name of this song?" Dean asked.

"'Hero'," Roman said. "By Enrique Iglesias. Why?"

"Sentimental purposes."

"Oh." Roman's heart erupted. He took Dean in another kiss, this one quicker.

"Didn't even have to get any drinks in me first," Dean said, chuckling, sighing in immense satisfaction. Roman felt pretty damn good himself.

"You thirsty?"

"Yeah. Let's go find out what Seth's up to."

What Seth was up to was a practical lap dance from a tall, pretty girl with black and blue hair. _Not bad, Seth_ , Roman praised as they approached the bar and took seats beside the couple.

"Hey, guys, this is Paige," Seth introduced. "She's visiting from Norwich."

"Hey there, Paige," Dean said. "I'm Dean. This is Roman."

"Hello, Dean and Roman," she greeted, voice painted with a British accent.

"Dean's my roommate, and Roman is his…" Seth said, pausing to find the right word.

"He's with me," Dean clarified. It could have meant a million different things, but Roman took it in one crucial way.

The night carried on in a bliss. Dean and Roman ordered drinks, learned a bit more about the girl they were certain Seth would hook up with in the near future (it made Roman feel a bit better, he couldn't lie), and swayed in a tipsy rhythm to every song. Roman was happy. He was so happy and nothing could take him away from this—

Until Seth charged over during one of their dances in a panic. "Dean," he said, color drained completely from his face. "Luke's here."

Dean's only response was an annoyed-sounding, "Ah, shit."


	8. Chapter 8

"Who the hell is Luke?"

Roman's question went ignored. "Come on," Seth said, grabbing Dean's arm. "We can sneak out through the back. He won't see you."

Dean jerked out of Seth's feeble hold. "He ain't gonna do shit to me here. We're in public."

"The Wyatt brothers _always_ target you in public, moron. They don't care who sees."

"Wyatt brothers?" Roman asked, voicing his thoughts.

"Luke is Bray Wyatt's brother. One of 'em. There's too many, and we have no idea if Luke's alone or if his buddies are tagging along. I don't wanna wait around to find out." Seth grasped Dean's arm in a more secure hold this time. "Let's go, Dean."

"I'm not afraid of him, or Bray, or any of them." Dean was defiant—and drunk.

"Don't be an idiot, Ambrose."

"Don't last-name me, Seth."

Seth eyed Roman. "Did he have a lot to drink?"

Roman shrugged a shoulder. "A few. Is he a lightweight?"

"Not exactly, but he's not a logical thinker _sober_ , let alone…"

"Right." Roman couldn't have agreed more with Seth. If the vermin known as the Wyatts were hanging around, this was not the place to be. He hated to cut his good time short. But, as little as he knew about these Wyatt brothers, he knew irrefutably Dean should not be near them.

He draped an arm over Dean's shoulder. "Hey, let's head out for a little while, okay, Dean?"

"Roman—" Dean tried, but Roman was unwilling to put up with any excuses for audacious behavior. With any amount of alcohol in his system, Dean couldn't think clearly. Roman and Seth had to think for him, show him the light even if it burned his eyes.

"You wanna go see a movie? How 'bout a movie?"

"Um…" Dean's head rolled back. "I guess so. What's playing?"

 _Victory_. Roman followed Seth towards the back of the bar with Dean in tow.

"HEY, AMBROSE!"

Roman craned his neck. He quickly found "Luke" was a stocky man, much smaller than Bray with a very similar bristly beard, wearing a white sleeveless shirt with a disgusting circular stain of sweat on the chest, two eyes wide and dreary engaged on Dean—and, as a result of their position, Seth and Roman.

"I've been looking for you," he crooned, reeling forward. "Got a bone to pick with you."

Seth quietly urged Roman to keep going. Roman didn't want to turn his back on this creep, so he pressed forward—technically backward—in the same direction they'd been going, observing Luke attentively. At least Dean didn't seem to be resisting.

Luke wasn't going to let them get away so easily. "Your little buddies aren't gonna save you, Ambrose. After what you did to Bray, you've gotta take your punishment—"

Roman went rigid in his place as Luke drew nearer to Dean. He wouldn't get a step closer, not as long as Roman was here. "Let's get one thing straight, asshole. Dean isn't going anywhere with you, you're not doing anything to him, and if you wanna test me on that, I swear to God I'll put you down right here, right now."

Luke was confounded by the words of this stranger. He laughed wheezily. "And who, may I ask, the hell are you?"

"I'm the son of a bitch who put your buddy Bray Wyatt into a brick wall a couple of weeks ago. The same son of a bitch who'll break every bone in your body if you don't back the fuck up. Right now."

Someone touched Roman's arm from behind. He didn't know if it was Seth or Dean, but he didn't care. He wasn't standing down. He would make good on his threats if he had to.

Amazingly, Luke smiled. His teeth were disgusting and similar to those of Bray. "I like you, man. You're wild and crazy. Ever think about joining the Wyatt family?"

"He's not interested," Dean growled, stepping up beside Roman.

Luke ignored him, eyes now somehow softer and fixated on Roman. "What are you doing hanging around this trash, man? Don't you know Dean Ambrose is nothing but a rat and a bitch?"

"So he'd fit right in with you and Bray, then? Seems to be what attracts you."

Luke chuckled softly. Then he swung his fist into Roman's jaw. Someone screamed. The blow was so sudden that Roman staggered back, cradling his jaw, striving to reclaim his vision from blackness and stars.

Dean lost it. He lunged at Luke, wrapping his arms around his stained, sweaty neck and forcing a drop, dragging them both to the ground. Dean didn't have control of the situation for long. Luke managed to grab Dean's full form and flip him over, pinning his elbows to the floor with his beefy knees. He pitched blow after blow into Dean's face, seizing his shirt collar and raising his head above the floor to absorb more of the punch, more of the pain.

Seth tried to intervene, but a fighter he was not. Luke grabbed him by the throat and cast him aside like a discarded jacket. Seth tried catching himself on his feet, but the force behind Luke's throw was too strong, and he collapsed onto the ground.

Roman had recovered. He felt a black, burning fire consuming him. Luke was attacking Dean and Dean couldn't do anything about it. He readied a fist and vaulted forward like an Olympic jumper. His mighty hand collided with Luke's cheek, splitting it open upon impact, and Luke toppled over. Roman landed on two feet with grace. He grabbed hold of the stunned Luke, forcing the wobbly man to his feet, then lobbed him headfirst into the bar. Out cold.

Roman wiped his lip, tasting blood. He made sure Luke wasn't getting back up, then hurried back over to Dean.

"You okay?" Roman asked, falling to his knees.

He clearly wasn't, and he couldn't and wouldn't convince Roman otherwise. Roman helped Dean to his feet as Seth was recovering on his own.

Paige looked on in horror, manicured hand over her mouth. Roman felt Seth might have just lost his chances with her, after witnessing that incident.

Dean had trouble standing on his own. Roman didn't want to tow him—he wanted to get the hell out of here. He lifted Dean into his arms—for someone so muscly, he was surprisingly light. He overheard someone scream that the police had been called. "Good," he voiced to whoever that had been. "Make sure they lock up this asshole."

Roman carried the spiritless Dean out of the bar. It was the first time Dean had nothing to say, the first signs he showed of feeling anything less than confident, cocky, and especially impetuous. He didn't say a word until they'd returned to Seth's car. Seth roared the vehicle to life and cranked up the heat. In the backseat, Roman zipped Dean's jacket—his jacket—up to keep him as warm as possible. Dean retaliated by nestling close to Roman, his head on Roman's shoulder. Roman felt a bit of moisture from Dean's eye seep through his jacket. Was Dean crying? Trying hard not to, anyway.

Seth muttered under his breath, "Fucking bullshit." In a louder voice he stated, "I'm sorry, Roman. I thought it could be avoided, but—"

"I want to know everything," Roman said roughly. "No more beating around the bush, no more secrets, no more of _any_ of that. Whether you two like it or not, whether _I_ like it or not, I'm involved in this now. And I would like to know what the fuck's going on so I can know what to do about it."

Seth stole a glance at Dean, who was wordless in a response to Roman. His fingers meshed with Roman's. His body was trembling. Roman held him tight and caught Seth's watch in the rearview mirror. He wasn't going to let this go.

"Okay," Seth said. "Okay. We'll tell you everything."

* * *

 **In the next chapter, we finally learn about Dean's past and his connection with the Wyatt family. How does it all come together? Is Dean, or anyone he knows, ever going to be safe from their wrath? Stay tuned! Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are highly appreciated. ^-^**


	9. Chapter 9

"I came to the city tired. Poor. Hungry. Lonely."

Sitting on the couch in his apartment, Dean pressed the ice pack Seth had fashioned—a Ziploc baggy packed with ice cubes bundled in a torn washcloth—to his face. Roman sat on the floor before him, having pushed the coffee table off to the side, listening to him talk. Seth sat next to Dean, his shoulder swollen with a darkening bruise under the sleeve of his Pierce the Veil t-shirt.

Dean removed the ice pack and compressed it against the other side of his face. His nose had stopped bleeding long ago, but he was still fighting the swelling. "I wanted a change. Get away from Cali for a while. But that's a different story."

Roman rested his arms over his knees. Dean let out a long breath.

"All I had was me and my guitar. Downtown was where I ended up after a…" He squinted his eyes, performing a mental calculation. "Fifteen, sixteen hour bus ride. I saw a lot of people just bumming around, some of 'em begging for money, others just trying to make the most of that moment. I saw one guy playing on the street corner, and I thought, 'That's not a bad way to spend an evening.' So I played. I found it was a decent way to make some money. I met a few other guys, homeless musicians. Sometimes we played together, but most times I was on my own. Cops got me twice for 'disturbing the peace.'" Dean shook his head, tossing the ice pack onto the table. "Figured I wasn't making enough money to keep getting tickets. Eventually I just started asking around. That's when I met Luke Harper."

The disconcerting image of Luke beating the hell out of Dean refused to switch off in Roman's mind. He focused in on the very real image of Dean safe and sound, sitting before him, introducing him to this private side.

"I asked him if he could spare some change. He asked me what I was doing there, like that hadn't been my corner for the past four or five weeks. I told him I just wanted something to eat. He asked me my name. I lied. Said it was Jon Moxley. He wanted me to go with him. So I did. He couldn't rob me. I didn't have anything. If he took Annie, I would have been upset, but I don't think guitars get stolen too often over cash.

"He took me over to 15C, over off of Bijou? That's when I met the others. Erick Rowan, that little shit Bo Dallas, and Bray Wyatt." Dean's voice had dropped to an unstable growl on the last name. "Bray led the others. I thought Luke was something of a crew chief, but he shut his mouth once he introduced Bray to me. I'll never forget that night. Bray put an arm around me and said in my ear, 'We're going to take care of you.'"

Roman wondered why in the world Dean would ever fall for something like that. But he couldn't say if he was hungry, lonely in a big new city, cold and getting harassed by cops, he wouldn't consider alternate measures for protection and financial security.

"And so, I did." Dean leaned back on the couch, hands folded in his lap. "Rolled with them for half a year. All I was was a little foot soldier, running errands for them. Delivering bags to people and giving back money. They never told me what was in the bag, and to never take _out_ of the bag was was in the bag, but I knew. I wasn't an idiot. Bray was sending me out as his runner to sell the drugs and handle the money so he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty, risk showing his face to anyone and getting busted. He was using me. And I wasn't getting shit for it. He was all, 'Oh, we'll protect you, we're all you need, you're our family', but who the hell was I kidding? I had no enemies. I didn't need them. I wasn't making shit from them, either, so I got greedy. I started giving myself a cut of the money for every run. Bray would sell an eight-ball for one-eighty, and I'd take twenty. I wanted to start small so he wouldn't get suspicious. Started up my own private savings account. Still earned my own money playing guitar on the streets, but when Bray found out about it, he made me share. 'We're family. We split everything.' Communist fucks."

Dean rubbed his neck. The narration had apparently dried his throat out. Seth was on it, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a bottle of water. Dean took a swig, then coughed before continuing. "Then I got caught. The thing is, I didn't get in trouble for it. I gave Bray his money, my portion already cut off, and he flared up. He thought he'd been cheated by the guy I'd sold the kabayo to. He rounded up Luke and them, and tracked the guy down and fucking shot him in the street. Just like that. No questions asked. And I witnessed it, without really realizing until afterwards what had happened."

Dean stopped talking for a long time, staring down at nothing in particular. He took a long, long drink of his water, nearly finishing it off in a single gulp. "I realized then—only then, 'cause I'm kind of a fuckhead—what kinda danger I was in. If Bray'd known it was me who'd gypped him of his money, it would have been me next. I let a guy _die_ , I didn't say a fucking thing, because I was too afraid of getting iced instead.

"I wanted out. I wanted as far away from these fuckers as I possibly could. But I couldn't quit. You don't just quit a gang. They'll find you and blow you to hell like they did that guy, no questions asked." Dean squeezed the air out of the water bottle and twisted it in his hands, the plastic crinkling loudly. "So I slowly started to back off. Made myself lesser known. I put an ad up on craigslist looking for a roommate." Dean patted Seth's knee. "This guy answered the call. Didn't realize what kind of an asshole I was, and let me in. I was banking at that point, because of how much I'd stolen from under Bray's nose. I moved in, far away from their known whereabouts. I didn't want to start _all_ over again, leave the city and go somewhere completely new just yet, after falling in love with Colorado and growing accustomed to everything good left in the city." His eyes lifted to meet Roman's. Roman smiled on the inside. "Bray kept calling me up, looking for favors. Finally threw my phone away and got a new one. But of course he caught up with me eventually. I told him I was onto bigger and better things. But I was too afraid to tell him I wasn't gonna be part of his shitty-ass family anymore. Never made it official, never signed a document or nothing. But he knew. He'd caught on. He ran into me and Seth at Zodiac one night, and we got into it. Seth stood up for me without knowing the story, kinda like you did, Ro. He had someone call the police and stayed with me there until they arrived. Funny thing is, the officer who arrived at the scene first was the same officer who'd cited me for 'disturbing the peace' with my music. She was familiar with me, and with Bray Wyatt. So she told us to leave before we were arrested. No tickets, no handcuffs, nothing. I got off for not doing anything, and Bray got off for being a dipshit. But I realized later that night that he'd taken my wallet."

Dean rubbed his nose. "My driver's license didn't have my address here on it, obviously, since it was from California. But he had my real name. He managed to figure out who I really was, and got away with about a hundred or so dollars of money that technically was 'his.' Obviously I don't carry all of it around with me at once. It's all stashed away in various places. But that night, he told me he didn't want to kill me yet. He wanted me back, or to pay. One way or another. The psycho nut who shot a man down in the streets when he _suspected_ he'd been cheated in a drug deal, and he was telling me, 'oh no, I ain't gonna kill you.' Yeah. Right."

Roman thought there was more to the story, but Dean didn't say anything again for a long while. Roman thought he was finally allowed to speak.

"Damn. That's…"

"Yeah. I know."

"And Seth, he eventually told you everything?"

"He kinda had to," Seth said. "I was mad at first, not gonna lie. He gave me the Jon Moxley identity, too, but came clean with his real name after that night with Bray. He told me it was his only source of protection, and now it was gone and he had nowhere else to go, nobody to turn to. I felt bad for him. I know he wasn't lying to me because he's a dick. He lied to me to keep me out of his own crap. But being around Dean for so long, you're bound to get into it on your own at some point."

"Which is why I wanted to tell you to stay away, back off," Dean said to Roman. "I didn't want you drag you down the way I'd dragged Seth down. I owe Seth everything. He still let me stay with him. He helped me get back on my feet. He had every right to kick me out, call the police, hit me, yell at me, whatever he wanted. And instead he chose to forgive me and refused to give up on me as a person."

"And he's cleaned up his act," Seth said. "I mean, he never smoked anything that he was selling. He never broke the law except for playing music, and carrying out those deals. He wasn't a bad guy. He still isn't. And he never will be." He turned his neck like an owl to look at Dean. "You're my best friend. We've been through hell and back together."

"Ain't that the fucking truth," Dean said, chuckling. His laugh gave Roman a bit of solace. Things were finally beginning to settle down. Roman's mind was fried with the information Dean had just given him, but he could handle it. He didn't want Dean to think Roman now thought any different of him. Because he didn't. He'd gotten into some trouble with a gang. He wasn't a criminal. Perhaps he'd made some mistakes, but who hadn't? Roman wasn't one to judge him.

"So that's me," Dean said. "It isn't too late to walk away, Roman. You deserve a little better than anything I can offer you."

Roman pulled himself up and took the space on the couch next to Dean. He opened his arms and let Dean lean against him. Dean relaxed in his hold. Roman rubbed his firm arm with a rugged hand.

"It _is_ too late," Roman said softly. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Even without looking down at the face of _his_ musician, Roman could feel him smiling. "You're so good, Ro. You're so good."

"What time do you need to be home, Roman?" Seth queried. "You have class or work or anything tomorrow?"

"Yeah, both," Roman said, wishing he could call in sick to both affairs. He knew he'd hate himself if he missed a day of classes, though, no matter how badly he wanted to stay here for a week.

"I don't want you to leave yet," Dean said.

"I won't," Roman promised. It was all he needed to hear. "I'm here as long as you like."

"If you want to stay over," Seth began to suggest, "I can drop you off at your place on my way to work tomorrow. Assuming you don't have to be at school before the ass-crack of dawn, 'cause that's when I go in."

That didn't sound like a bad idea at all. "I'd like that. Thanks, Seth."

"Yeah, no problem. I think Dean really needs us right now. Needs you." He stood up. "I'm gonna head to bed though. Gotta be up early and whatnot."

Roman felt a little bad. He hoped with all his being that Seth didn't feel challenged, pushed away, by Roman's presence. Seth had gone through a lot for Dean, and Roman didn't want to get in the way of anything that might have existed between them prior to Roman's arrival in both their lives.

"You sure you don't wanna hang out?" Roman tried.

"Thanks, but I really do need my sleep. I'm a pretty useless worker when I'm wiped out."

"You're a useless worker no matter what," Dean teased.

"Hey, fuck you." Seth wiggled a finger against Dean's sock, and he giggled like a child, jerking his foot away from the tickling. "Night, guys."

"Night, Seth," Dean said.

"Good night," Roman said. "And thanks again."

Seth smiled, then disappeared into the bathroom, and then his bedroom with the door closed behind him.

Roman didn't want the Wyatt family or Dean's drama with them to linger as a single thought in the living room any longer. "Hey, guess what?"

"Hmm?"

"I wrote a song."

This stimulated Dean, uncorked his natural energy. "Really? That's awesome."

"Thing is, I don't have any music for it. Just lyrics."

"I'm your man, Superman. Show it to me sometime. I'd love to hear it."

"You got it." Roman wasn't even worried about how it sounded. He had a feeling Dean would love it no matter how much he critiqued his own piece.

Dean sat up. "Be right back. I'm gonna go get my guitar. I'm in the mood."

Roman couldn't believe it. He'd dreamed forever of Dean playing for him, just for him, without having to share his idolization with anyone else.

"Will Seth mind?" Roman asked upon his return.

"Nah. I'm usually quiet. He's used to it. He told me he likes it."

Roman didn't blame Seth. Going to sleep to Dean's voice, his playing, sounded divine.

Dean freed Annie from the battered case. After everything he'd been through, the case as evidence, it was a wonder the guitar was still in such pristine condition. Dean must have taken very good care of her.

"Any requests?" Dean asked, tuning the guitar with the pick in his mouth.

"'More Than Words.'"

"You like that one?" A smile touched Dean's soft lips.

"I love it. I mean, I like anything you play, but if you're taking requests…"

"You got it." Dean used Roman's words. He strummed away gently, his voice transmitting dulcet and eloquent from his lips to Roman's ears. He leaned back, a stupid smiling spreading far past his face, leaning on his arm, watching his love play for him—

Love?

The word invoked confusion. Did Roman really just think of "the l word" with Dean in mind?

He'd never been in love before. He was scared of it ever happening to him, not knowing what to expect, _especially_ considering whoever was on the receiving end of his feelings…

But listening to Dean, watching him, hearing him, feeling him, the taste of Dean's lips lingering in his mouth like a sweet drink…Roman couldn't deny it. Not at all. Logic might have wanted to throw a fit inside him— _it's too fast, he's trouble, you don't know how he feels, this is stupid and risky and a waste of time_ —he locked the arguments away in a box, tucked them away in a dark corner in his mind. Love had nothing to do with logic.

He loved Dean.

He was falling for Dean Ambrose, and fast.

And he pretended as Dean sang the words " _I love you_ " repeatedly through the song, that perhaps he meant it as more than a melody. Dean could have loved Roman, too.

Roman had listened to this song so many times that he was tempted to sing the last lines along with Dean.

 _"What would you do if my heart was torn in two_

 _More than words to show you feel_

 _That your love for me is real_

 _What would you say if I took those words away_

 _Then you couldn't make things new_

 _Just by saying I love you_."

Dean closed the song with a fading outro. He looked to Roman and grinned, encouraged by Roman's beam.

"You're amazing."

"Far from it."

"Bullshit."

"Anything else?"

"Play me your favorite song to play. Of all time."

"Oh, geez." Dean laughed, strumming random chords as he considered the seemingly impossible decision. "Well, I have so many favorites, but here's one I learned recently that I really love."

Roman recognized it at once.

" _When your legs don't work like they used to before_

 _And I can't sweep you off of your feet_

 _Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?_

 _Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?_

 _And, darling, I will be loving you 'til we're 70_

 _And, baby, my heart could still fall as hard at 23_

 _And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways_

 _Maybe just the touch of a hand_

 _Well, me - I fall in love with you every single day_

 _And I just wanna tell you I am_

 _So honey now_

 _Take me into your loving arms_

 _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars_

 _Place your head on my beating heart_

 _I'm thinking out loud_

 _Maybe we found love right where we are_."

Roman wasn't an Ed Sheeran fan, but _God_ how he could literally feel himself falling in love with Dean, listening to him trill those lyrics in irresistible harmony.

When the song was finished, Dean's mouth stretched into a yawn. "Sorry about that," he said.

"Don't be," Roman said. "You're tired."

"Yeah. Might pass out here in a few. Where are you sleeping?"

"Out here." Roman wanted badly, more than anything he'd ever wanted in the world, to sleep in Dean's bed with him. But he wasn't going to be the direct, pushy creeper who made the suggestion. He only wanted it if Dean wanted it. But the point of staying here was staying with Dean, right?

"Ah. Okay." Dean stood up, holding Annie tight. "Mind if I…join you?"

"Absolutely, I mind. Go to your room, young man."

"Eat me."

Roman chuckled.

"Want some pajamas or something? Can't be comfortable sleeping in your clothes like that."

"I don't know if anything of yours'll fit me," Roman laughed. "I usually just sleep in my boxers, anyway." Would he think that was weird?

"Me too."

Guess not.

Roman waited for Dean to change out of his outfit and brush his teeth. He stripped of his outfit and folded the clothes, leaving them beside the couch, then texted Randy to let him know he wouldn't be home tonight. He tried not to stare too longingly as Dean reentered the living room with a down comforter and two big pillows, wearing nothing but black boxer shorts. He wasn't the most ripped man Roman had ever seen, or the most muscular, but Roman loved the sight of him. The burly arms he was already familiar with, the cut chest, an impressive set of abs. Roman wondered what Dean thought of him, wearing nothing more than what Dean had on.

Dean clicked his tongue. "I tell ya, I thought you looked pretty damn good tonight, Superman, but who knew you were just naturally beautiful all over?"

Roman blushed. He couldn't hide it. "Thanks."

Dean tossed the comforter over Roman's body and handed him a pillow. After flicking the light off, Dean took the outside of the couch while Roman pressed his back against the frame. Clearly this furniture hadn't been designed to comfortably fit two adult men lying down. All that meant, though, was more Dean, all Dean, up against him.

Dean obviously adored the role of little spoon. Roman slipped his arms around Dean's warm physique and held him close.

"Dean."

"Hmm?"

"I'm never going to let anything happen to you."

"Nothing will."

"I promise." He planted a tender kiss on Dean's shoulder, near the collarbone. Dean let out a soft giggle. Roman watched as goosebumps erected on his bare arm.

"A bit sensitive?" Roman teased.

"Maybe a bit."

Roman laughed and kissed him again. "Sleep well, Dean."

"You too."

Roman knew he would.

* * *

He wanted to punch whoever was waking him up.

It was Seth, he realized as he blinked exhaustion out of his eyes. Seth was dressed for work in a black button-up shirt and slacks to match. "Hey, morning," Seth whispered.

"Morning," Roman repeated, softly. Dean was still in his arms, unmoving except for gentle breaths. Roman's arm was aching and asleep. He could feel the prickling sensation already. It was worth it.

"He's a pretty heavy sleeper, so you don't need to be _too_ too careful."

"Gotcha."

Roman still moved as carefully as he could so not to disturb Dean. Dean seemed to frown in his sleep as Roman pulled away. Seth left him to his privacy, and he quickly changed into his clothes. Roman smiled as he watched Dean sleep. He lightly stroked Dean's hair.

He was so perfect to Roman. Flaws and all.

Roman was ready in minutes.

His phone was dead. He'd be home in a little while, so that wasn't a concern. He and Seth shuffled out of the apartment to Seth's car. The sun had yet to stir from its slumber in the atmosphere. It was damn fucking cold. Roman still hadn't claimed his coat back. His gray jacket would do. His breath came out in wispy clouds, even inside Seth's car.

"You sleep okay?" Seth asked. He turned the heat up and switched the radio station to 98.1, the city's classic rock station. _Points for Seth_.

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

Seth smiled. "I bet you did."

"Hey, listen, Seth, I'm not…getting in the way of anything, am I? I mean, you were clearly Dean's friend first, and I don't want you to think I'm trying to mess anything up."

Seth made a face. "Nah, dude, you're fine. People come and go out of his life like anyone else's. I'm not jealous."

"Good. I was worried you'd feel left out."

Seth chuckled. "I appreciate your concern, but no. It's hard to feel 'left out' around Dean. He has a way of making you feel like you really matter."

Roman agreed. "You remember the way?"

"Wouldn't mind a bit of guidance here and there."

Seth merged with the morning traffic. "Dean's a great guy," he went on. "Anyone who knows him is lucky for it. I wouldn't trade him for anything. Sometimes he gets on my nerves, sometimes he does something totally fucking stupid and I have to sit back and ask him, ' _What the hell were you thinking_?' But at the end of the day, he's family. And family comes first."

Roman wished he could feel that way about his own family, even if Seth and Dean weren't related by blood. They might as well have been. Their history was fierce and admirable.

"And you know," Seth added, "you seem like a pretty good guy too, Roman. Doubt you'd be the type to totally blow off your friends. So if we started hanging out, too, that might be cool."

"Oh, yeah, definitely." Another concept he'd have to get used to: friends. People wanting to hang out with him. Last night had been the first time in…Roman couldn't even _remember_ the last time someone had invited him out. Even if someone had, recently, there was almost no way he would have agreed to it. Not to be a dick, but because of his schedule. "I mean, if Dean likes you, you've gotta be great, right?"

Seth laughed. "Yeah. I guess so. He's not easy to figure out, but once you're in…he's your guy. You're with him for life. You'd give anything for him, and he'd do the same for you. Doesn't matter who you are. He's got that effect on everyone he lets in."

"Is that why he doesn't let too many people in?"

"Exactly."

Roman could relate.

Seth dropped him off, and Roman thanked him for the ride. Seth handed over his number in case Roman needed anything else from him. Roman still had a couple of hours before his first class, but he wasn't getting back to sleep now that he was up and alert. He took a shower and listened to music, recollecting each event of the night from start to finish, from the moment Dolph called him with Dean Ambrose's number to getting ready for what felt like a date, to dancing with Dean and kissing him at the end of a scared lecture, to battling a new slimy character named Luke Harper, to falling in love with Dean over music, to waking up while holding Dean safe in his arms.

Life was strange. Strange and wonderful.


	10. Chapter 10

Waking up to a still-quiet apartment was unnerving.

Two days into Randy's departure and Roman still wasn't used to the serenity. He never thought he'd miss his buddy's witty antics and nightly guests, but being _all_ alone was truly miserable.

At least it was Thanksgiving, and he could be with Dean again. Roman drew back the blinds in the living room. Light snow spattered from the overcast sky. Nothing too dreary. At least there wasn't half a foot of the mushy cold crap on the sidewalks, in the streets.

He wanted to dress nicely for Seth's parents, the folks of a man he barely knew. Good impressions meant a lot. He pulled on a black cardigan sweater and his slacks he wore to work, wish he'd washed free of stains and other blotches with sources unknown last night. He decided to wear his thick mane up in a ponytail, also in work-fashion.

With an hour until Seth and Dean were due to pick him up, Roman made a quick trip to Go-Mart, which was open today. He felt awful for the employees forced to work when they could have been home with family and friends. He suffered his own sense of loneliness, being hundreds of miles away from his kin, but at least he wasn't stuck at work. At least he had somewhere to go this year.

One thing he was thankful for: the kindness of Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins.

Roman picked up a dozen rolls, a peach pie, and ingredients for a salted caramel mocha. Obviously it wouldn't taste anything like the ones he fashioned at work, but he figured Dean would appreciate the gesture anyhow.

Seth was right on time. Another point for the guy. Roman appreciated punctuality. He opened the door and gave the boys a smile warm against the frosty air.

"Hey, happy Thanksgiving," Roman said.

Dean was adorable, dressed in a black coat (finally), gloves, and a black beanie hat with the anarchy symbol stitched in white on the front. He looked like an eskimo. "You too, Ro. Ooh, what did you buy?"

Roman presented the items in his grocery bag. Dean's eyes seem to glisten at the extra-large bottle of caramel. He looked up at Roman in hunger and idolization.

"We get mochas?" he asked.

"We get mochas," Roman confirmed.

Dean pumped a fist in the air. "Yes! Best Thanksgiving ever!"

Roman loved having that effect on him. It served him right, since Dean could wear down any and all defenses with that wicked grin alone.

Seth's parents lived way further north in the Rockrimmon area, home of the wealthy. Roman already felt underdressed and he hadn't even compared his outfit to the others guests' yet. He was glad he'd made the call about the ponytail. It made him feel a bit more ornate.

"It's probably not gonna be a huge gathering," Seth explained from the driver's seat. With what little snow and _very_ little ice was present on the road, he still operated the vehicle with caution. "Parents, brother, cousins, aunts, uncles. My family isn't huge."

"Bigger than mine," Roman pointed out. "It should be a good time either way."

"Oh, it'll be great. My family's awesome. They've gotten me out of trouble more times than I can count." Seth took an unprotected left turn with his head on a swivel. Roman could sure appreciate how attentive of a driver Seth was. Reason to be thankful #2. "You'll like 'em."

"Ooh, I love this song." Dean, not wearing a seatbelt again, leaned forward to turn the radio up. Seth swatted his shoulder, then returned both hands tightly to the wheel.

"Sit back, moron. Put your seatbelt on."

"I like this song," Dean said again.

"Then I'll turn it up. Sit back."

"Yes, Mom." Dean pressed his back to the seat and cocked his head at Roman, as if teasing Seth wordlessly. If Seth caught onto it—and he surely did—he didn't mention it.

Roman recognized the song. It was Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive", one of his favorites. Dean mouthed the words, eyes closed. Roman wished he'd just sing them. Jon Bon Jovi had nothing on Dean Ambrose.

"Can you play this song?" Roman queried.

Dean scoffed. "Can I play this song. Yes, I can. It's actually one of the first songs I ever learned to play."

"What's the first? And please don't say 'Smoke on the Water.'"

Dean unleashed that little smirk, that python tongue, and Roman hadn't been prepared for it. "Definitely not. 'Iron Man.' Black Sabbath. Sounds better on electric, though."

"My boy," Roman said, raising his hand for a high-five.

"Here we are," Seth announced, pulling his car in front of a massive house. "Home sweet home."

Roman felt timid, shuffling up the paved driveway behind Dean and Seth. Mostly behind Seth. Dean lingered a bit behind, fingers wiggling in his gloves. Roman was tempted to take hold of them. But he'd run out of time already as Seth rang the doorbell, then stepped into the house before anyone answered.

"Hey, we're here," Seth called. His voice echoed off the high walls of the mansion-like residence.

A tall and rather robust woman with a smeared apron tied around her waist took Seth in a tight hug. "Hey there, baby. How's it going?"

"Good," Seth said, voice strained in her embrace. "How are ya, Mom?"

"Tired! I love and hate this day all at the same time." Her eyes went to Dean next. From that twinkle, Roman could sense even at her age, she found Dean wonderfully attractive. He couldn't blame her. "How are you, Ambrose? You taking care of yourself?"

"Nah, of course not. That's what I've got Seth for," Dean said, swinging a foot in Seth's direction.

She chuckled, then at last regarded Roman's presence. "Hi, I'm Stephanie," she addressed him, holding out an arm. Her grip was firm even on his meaty hands.

"Nice to meet you. Roman."

"Newest member of our gang," Dean chimed. Roman couldn't believe, given his past, he'd use that sort of word in such casual conversation.

He remembered the bag in his hand. "Oh, uh, here. I brought a few things. Thank you so much for having me today."

Stephanie clicked her tongue. "Oh, honey, that's the sweetest thing. Thank you." She took the Walmart bag from him. "Well, dinner will be ready in a little while."

"Is everyone here?" Seth asked.

"Jamie and Joey aren't yet. They should be here by four."

"If they aren't, I get their plates," Dean said.

"Might have to fight Kane for them," Seth mentioned.

"Nobody gets Jamie and Joey's plates except for Jamie and Joey," Stephanie stated. "Hush up."

Roman, feeling mousy as ever, followed behind Seth and Dean who trailed Stephanie down a long corridor, through what felt like a hotel lobby and rounded left into a spacious kitchen. A very brawny gentlemen, dressed in golf shorts and a collared shirt, stirred a pot of boiling water with a wooden spoon. He craned his neck to kiss his wife on the cheek, then spotted the boys. "Hello, boys. Oh, hi there, new guy. I'm Hunter, Seth's father."

"Wow, Seth, you and your dad look way alike," Roman observed aloud. Hunter's handshake was far more painful than Stephanie's. Friendly but forceful.

"Oh, geez," Seth said, "that could mean anything from we're both studs to we're both trolls."

"You're both trolls." A hefty man towering taller than Roman—even taller than Hunter—swaggered into the kitchen. He picked a cranberry from a bowl on the counter and popped it in his mouth. Stephanie penalized him for the action with a slap on the hand.

"Roman, this is my big brother Kane."

Fortunately Kane didn't offer a handshake. Roman feared Kane would break every bone in his hand with one mild compression. "Hey there, Roman. What's a guy like you bumming around with this dweeb for?" Kane dug his knuckles into Seth's scalp, and Seth jerked away.

"Hey, back off him, man," Dean played, punching Kane's strapping arm. Kane eyed him maniacally, and Dean understood the error of his ways. He tried darting out of Kane's reach, but Kane took hold of Dean and swung him over his shoulders like a fireman making a rescue.

"No! NO!" Dean screamed, the laughter apparent in his voice. "MRS. ROLLINS! YOUR SON IS BEING AN ASSHOLE!"

"Quit being an asshole, Seth," Stephanie called.

"NO, YOUR OTHER SON!"

Kane slammed Dean onto a leather couch in the living room. Roman thought it might have hurt him, but Dean just sat upright and laughed.

"You were saying?" Kane challenged.

"Nothing, totally nothing at all," Dean said, raising two defensive hands. "Promise."

Kane arched an eyebrow, then turned away from Dean. Incredibly, Roman was jealous of how Kane was treating Dean. As Kane shuffled away, scooting past Roman, Dean flipped him off.

"How many times have you pissed in his Cheerios over the years?" Roman asked, moving to sit beside Dean on the couch.

"None. He just likes to torture me, and Seth. I'm like another brother to him. Family."

That was sweet. Seth's family accepted Dean, welcomed him with arms open wide, as generously as Seth did. "It's good to have people like that."

"Man, where the hell were you though, Superman? You could have saved me at anytime back there."

"Up against that beast?" Roman asked, jerking a thumb in Kane's general direction. "Probably not. You're on your own, bud."

"You could probably take him."

"The guy looks like he lifts busses at the gym. Big, yellow school busses."

"He's a real softy, though. Kinda like a big ol' teddy bear."

"If he's a teddy bear, I'm a Barbie doll."

Dean laughed heartily. There were many a reason Roman fell for him. That laugh was one of them, near the top of the list.

The doorbell rang again, and once more the ringers entered before anyone could open the door for them. "Hey, guys! Happy Thanksgiving!" Two men dressed in business-casual attire for whatever reason slipped down the hallway into the living room, upholding tupperware. They introduced themselves as Joey and Jamie, Seth's cousins.

"Damn, that means I don't get extra helpings," Dean said, snapping his fingers. "Oh well. Guess that means there's more room for mochas later."

Several more made appearances as the grandfather clock in the living room drew closer to four o'clock. Seth introduced Roman to his uncles Shawn and Wade, aunt Tamina, cousins Xavier and Kofi.

The air smelled delicious, a mouthwatering blend of everything Stephanie and Hunter had prepared. She'd cooked up a fresh turkey that dripped juice as she sliced into it, fashioning together thin pieces for everyone to take. She'd aligned a stack of plates, napkins, forks and knives along the bar, establishing an organized line for the others to follow.

"Ladies first," Hunter said, referring to Seth's aunt and his wife. The men waited patiently for everyone to move down the line, gathering silverware and scooping various foods onto their plates: turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, cornbread, glazed carrots, green beans, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, squash soup, kernel corn. Seth, Dean and Roman found themselves towards the end of the line, but there was still plenty of food to eat. Roman tried not to take too much food, not until second and third leftovers were made an option. Kane tried helping himself to a live of Roman's peach pie early, but Stephanie swatted him again.

"She abuses me, I tell ya," Kane muttered to Roman on his way down the line. Roman laughed.

"I'll have one of your famous mochas after dinner, with dessert," Dean said to Roman, scooping a lump of potatoes onto his glass plate. "But you have to try Mama Rollins's sweet tea. It's killer."

"Truly killer?"

"You should see how much sugar she puts into one pitcher. Diabetes central."

"No wonder you like it so much," Roman teased.

Amazingly, there was enough room at the stretching oak table for everyone to sit comfortably, with enough room for arm movement without too much elbow bumping. Roman wouldn't have minded bumping elbows with Dean much. He sat next to Dean, Uncle Shawn to his left, Seth placed on Dean's right.

Hunter rubbed his hands together, then clasped them. "Allow me to say grace."

Silverware was replaced on napkins on the table. Roman placed his hands in his lap and bowed his head.

"Our Father in Heaven, we give thanks for the pleasure of gathering together for this occasion. We give thanks for this food prepared by loving hands. We give thanks for life, the freedom to enjoy it all, and all other blessings. As we partake of this food, we pray for health and strength to carry on and try to live as You would have us. This we ask in the name of Christ, our Heavenly Father."

"Amen," Seth said with the rest of the family.

"Amen," Roman spoke immediately after them.

Dean hadn't joined in the exclam.

"So, Roman," Stephanie said, stirring through a pile of green beans on her plate. "Seth tells me you're a junior in college?"

"Yes, ma'am," Roman said. He scooped a mouthful of lumpy potatoes into his mouth. They were delicious. He liked that she'd kept in the potato skins.

"What are you studying?" Hunter asked.

Was this really going to be about him? Roman felt flattered—and nervous.

"Being awesome," Dean said. A smile touched Roman's lips at their private joke.

"Health Sciences," Roman retorted.

"Which is still awesome."

"What do you plan to do with it?" Stephanie asked.

"I want to be a rehabilitation medicine specialist or a physical therapist. Whichever opportunity presents itself first."

"Oh, very interesting. Is it tough?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. Junior year's the hardest one so far."

"It gets easier," Hunter said, waving his fork. "Senior year won't be quite the workload. But you keep at it. It's good to see you working towards a college degree. That's one of the smartest things you can do with your life."

Seth stared down at his full plate. Roman caught his frown. Had that comment hit home for him?

"But not everyone needs college to be successful in life," Stephanie said, shooting Hunter a warning look. "Success comes from hard work, no matter where you apply it."

"Or bein' stupid rich," Kofi said, snickering. "That usually helps, too."

"Not in most cases."

"What about them Kardashian girls?" his brother Xavier raised. "They pro'lly didn't go to college, and look at 'em."

"Kim isn't famous because she's rich," Wade said. "She's famous because of a sex tape."

"Okay, drop this talk," Aunt Tamina ordered. "Now."

Seth seemed relieved. He took a bite of corn without a word.

Roman took a sip of Stephanie's sweet tea. Sure enough, it was tantalizing. Dangerous for one's health if consumed too much, too quickly. But Thanksgiving was also about spoiling yourself with greatness, body and soul.

"If I could be _anything_ in life, I'd be a musician forever," Dean said.

 _Surprise, surprise_ , Roman thought.

"Whether or not I'm successful doesn't really matter. What matters to me is doing something I love for a living. And I sure love music."

"Not a bad way to live, either," Uncle Shawn said. "Just be smart about your life choices. Don't do anything to get yourself into trouble, or anyone you know. Regrets aren't fun to live with."

Roman wondered how aware of Dean's situation this family was.

"Yeah, but you also can't let mistakes you've made hold you back from becoming who you're supposed to be." Dean paused to gulp down some sweet tea. "Life is a learning process. You learn from your mistakes. You apply that to the present to make for a better future." Dean rubbed his nose. "Fear is a useless, wasted emotion. Fear is an obstacle. Fear chokes you. Learn how to overcome fear, and you can overcome the world."

Roman had to think about Dean's words carefully. Was he right, or was this his natural overhasty behavior speaking on his behalf?

Dean had plenty to be afraid of, the Wyatt family to start. Was he bold or just stupid?

"Man, when did this turn into _One Tree Hill_ over here?" Kofi asked. "Change of subject. Who else laughed their ass off during that shark's dance at the Super Bowl halftime show?"

"Katy Perry is so sexy," Xavier agreed.

"I raised piglets," Aunt Tamina muttered.

"Can I have pie now?" Kane asked.

"Nope," Stephanie shut him down. "Not yet."

Conversation was light for the rest of the meal. Dean didn't have much more to contribute after his disquisition. Roman admired Dean, he truly did with every fiber of his being, but Dean also managed to scare him quite a bit. This kind of heedless conduct, a head filled with overconfidence and a heart pumping undaunted assertiveness through his veins…

Dean needed to be looked after.

He was going to get himself very hurt—again—someday.

Kane was delighted at last when folks trickled into the kitchen for seconds, and desserts were officially approved for consumption. Roman made himself another small plate, then spotted Stephanie's coffeemaker on the counter near the sink. It was so clean it shined, an intricate device straight off the _Enterprise_.

Roman was certain he could figure out how to use it.

He asked permission first.

"Oh, knock yourself out, hon," she permitted. "Cups are in the cabinet above the coffeemaker. But be warned—you might be asked to make more if you make one cup."

"I'm used to that," Roman said, chuckling.

After playing with the beeping, whirring machine for a few minutes, he concocted three salted caramel mochas for Dean, Seth and himself. He wondered how they'd taste with his own selected ingredients. He lifted the mugs with trained, steady hands and brought them into the living room. Most of the family was here now, poking at pie slices on new plates, finishing off cups of tea and water, watching the football game on the flatscreen television. Seth and Dean were at the end of one of the long leather couches, talking with hushed voices as though arguing—but they were arguing alongside one another, not fighting each other.

Roman felt he knew what the bickering was about, but he raised no questions.

"Here you go, guys," he said, lowering the cups to their level.

"Oh, thanks, Ro." Dean handed a cup to Seth, then took one for himself.

"Nope. This one's yours," Roman said, referring to the one left in his hand. "It's got all the extra caramel."

"You know me so well."

Dean finished off his coffee before Roman's was cool enough for ingestion. Dean leaned into his arm, wordlessly watching the game with an absent mind. The room was sleepy altogether, relaxed, satisfied after a delicious meal. Roman would have offered to help clean up, but Dean was nodding off against him now, and Roman didn't want to disturb him. Fortunately Jamie and Joey were quick to offer their services.

"Hey, you looked really upset earlier over what your dad said," Roman said, voice low. "I'm sorry about that. I would have talked about something else if I'd known college was a sore subject."

"You couldn't have known. It's alright." Seth's eyes were on the TV, but his mind was elsewhere. He propped an elbow on one knee and rested his chin in his palm. "I don't go to college, not because of money or because I'm dumb or anything. I just don't know what I want to do with my life yet. And I don't want to blow my dad's, or my own, thousands of dollars while I try to get it all together, figure it all out. It's a waste of time unless you're going after something you're really, truly passionate about."

That had been Dean's point. Perhaps he'd been speaking more on Seth's behalf than his own. "What are you really, truly passionate about?"

"Cars, I guess? I don't know. Something that pisses my dad off to no end is the fact that I _don't_ have that passion. That drive for education or a bloody degree. Right now my place is to work, keep myself alive with financial security and the strength of my friends and family. As long as nobody brings up school, we're all fine."

"I understand."

Seth's eyes fell to Dean. He chuckled without smiling. "He's a cute sleeper."

"God, I'll say." It sounded pathetic but Roman didn't care, he just didn't. Dean was enchanting in everything he did, even if he was in a bad mood. At the mention of his name, Dean shifted in his sleep. His head slumped towards Roman's lap. "Anyone gonna mind that we're sitting like this?"

"Nah. They don't care."

Roman was glad. He didn't, either. He wasn't moving.

"Hey," Kofi said, coming over and ignoring the fact Roman had a sleeping Dean on him. "We're heading over to the park to play football."

"In the snow?" Roman asked softly, making a face.

"Hell, yeah. Only better time to do it is when it's raining. You guys in?"

"No thanks," Seth said.

"You sure? You can even have me on your team. We'll stomp Uncle Wade and Xavier."

"Nah, that's alright. You guys have fun."

"Fine. Lazy-ass crackers."

The house emptied quickly after that. Apparently football in the park, no matter the weather, was a tradition for this family. Seth chose to join his parents in the kitchen, wrapping up leftovers and rinsing dishes off in the sink before depositing them in the enormous dishwasher.

Roman held Dean on the couch for an hour. Watched a football game he didn't care about. _Things to be thankful for: cold nights in a warm house with the love of my life_.

When Seth mentioned he had work in the morning, and Roman remembered with an inward groan he did as well, they decided together it was time to leave.

Dean stirred awake at Roman's movement and scratched his head.

"Morning," Roman said.

"Shut up." Dean laughed. "That was a pretty good nap, though. You make for a nice pillow."

"You do, too."

Stephanie thanked them all for coming.

"Thanks again for having me," Roman said, shaking both hers and Hunter's hands in spite of the pain it brought. "It meant a lot."

"It's our pleasure, honey. You come back anytime, alright?"

"Will do."

Stephanie gave her son and Dean hugs. Hunter patted Seth's shoulder and said, "Take care of yourself, son."

"You know I will."

The car ride home was quieter than Thanksgiving dinner had been. Roman didn't like it. For once, he was itching for conversation, something neither Dean nor Seth were evidently up for.

"I had a blast," Roman said. "Thanks again for inviting me."

"You say 'thanks' too much," Dean joked.

"It's Thanksgiving, silly goose. I have the right."

"I mean on a daily basis. You're way too thankful, too nice. Be a dick once in a while, for crying out loud."

"Okay. Go to hell, douche bag. Fuck you."

"There ya go." Dean chose to sit in the middle seat beside Roman again. The nap earlier hadn't sufficed his desire to be as close to Roman as Roman wanted to be to Dean.

Roman smiled at the window, watching the snow fall. It had been a pretty good Thanksgiving after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Roman had heard dozens of Black Friday horror stories over the years. People getting trampled to death in the doors at Walmart. A woman who'd used pepper spray on a group of fellow shoppers in front of a video game display. Countless brutal fights to the death over particular clearance items. A day of absolute chaos and gluttony and materialism, ironically falling immediately after the day of giving thanks and generosity and hospitality.

The world was a strange place.

Fortunately J/C had no such Black Friday tales of mayhem to pass onto customers and other employees. In fact, the only real business the little coffeeshop gained was the daily brief morning rush. Late morning and early afternoon dragged. The weather reflected yesterday's, cold and light snow but not enough to fill the streets with dangerous slush.

When Roman was off, he decided to swing by Escape Velocity. He hadn't been by the store in a while, and he wondered if they had any deals going on for the post-holiday shopping frenzy. Not that the little shop was ever crowded or flourishing on business by the day, unfortunately, but that only meant less people in Roman's way as he sponsored his favorite emporium in the city.

Downtown was hectic and lively as anticipated. Roman parked on the second floor of a parking garage in which he had to cough up five bucks to the gateman. It wasn't much, and it was worth it. Better than trying to find a spot anywhere near his destination. The lot was situated east of downtown, in territory Roman wasn't used to passing through, so his eyes brushed over other shops on his long walk. A costume store open year-round. An accessories shop with an $850 purse in the window. A pizza bar _and_ coffeehouse with an attached bookstore and toy store: four businesses rolled into one. He passed by the bar where Dean said he'd first met Bray Wyatt, and a chill unrelated to the cold set off in Roman's spine. He wasn't afraid of Bray Wyatt, or that little fink Luke Harper. His fear centralized on Dean's behalf. As though the fear Dean didn't have—or claimed not to have, staring it in the face with a sense of arrogant grit as a mask—was felt by Roman, entirely by Roman, _for_ him.

He was lucky, or perhaps _Bray Wyatt_ was lucky, that Roman didn't see him in the area. He crossed the street and pushed through the door at Escape Velocity.

Cody and Neville were in a heated argument of nerdy proportions.

"You can't even use the voice as a point," Cody said, sliding a duster over the top of one of the comic book racks. "Everyone always makes fun of the voice. The point is, it doesn't define him as a character."

"Yes, it does!" Neville argued from behind the counter. "It doesn't matter how badass your nature is. The minute Bale opens his mouth and Batman sounds like a sixty-five year old smoker of forty years, you're not going to take him seriously. It's way too distracting, so yes, it _does_ help define him as a character."

"And Keaton's total lack of charisma? The fact that you can never tell what he's thinking? Not saying he can't act, but Bale has this way of letting people know exactly what he wants and the confidence that he'll get it, no matter what it takes. He took on the role of numerous styles of Bruce Wayne, _and_ Batman, and made them each distinct. He's the perfect Batman. Keaton, you wouldn't even _think_ he was Batman just looking at him."

Neville was hopping now, in pure thrill for what he was about to counter with. "That's _why_ Keaton makes a great Batman! You're not supposed to _know_ what Batman is thinking all the time! He's _Batman_ , he's an enigma, he's this mysterious creature of the night! You wouldn't expect someone as reserved and inwardly-focused as Keaton's Batman to be Batman, and that's what makes him a great hero with a secret safe identity. Bale is so open and silly in his performance, that one look at him and you can guess he's the hero right away. Remember how many people petitioned for Keaton not to play Batman because nobody would see him in the role? That's the point! You wouldn't suspect it! He maintained his _secret identity_ well."

"Whoa, whoa, shots fired, please don't hurt me, guys," Roman said, shielding his eyes with his arms.

"Hey, Roman!" Neville greeted. "What's up?"

"Just wondering if you guys had any Black Friday sales going on. Didn't know I was walking right into the third World War."

"Oh, it's not a war," Cody said. "Just a casual debate about who played a better Batman: Michael Keaton or Christian Bale."

"Keaton, hands down."

" _What_!?"

Neville howled laughing. "I told you! Roman knows what's up." He reached over the counter for a high-five.

"Keaton's Batman was more than just Bruce Wayne, a man. He was a myth, a legend, almost godlike. He was a badass. He was the goddamn Batman," Roman said, laughing.

"What I appreciate about Bale's Batman though is the opposite of that. He humanized the character. He made us able to sympathize with him because of how he played off his emotions. He didn't keep it all in like the insipid Keaton. He _expressed_ how he felt in situations because he still _is_ a man. Sure, he's Batman, but he's also human. It makes for a more realistic character. That's why I can't stand Superman. He's not a 'man', he's this alien-like super force that can't really feel a thing. We can't feel for him, we can't sympathize because he's not really human. He's an indestructible Martian who has the most cop-out weakness in the universe."

"Do _not_ even get me started on Superman, Cody, I'll shut you down. He's my favorite of them all." Roman grinned, feeling his tongue sliding through his teeth. Dean had quite the impact on him.

Cody sighed, admitting defeat with a soft smile. "Fine."

"We have a sale on t-shirts going on right now," Neville said. "Nobody's really buying them since it's winter."

"Cool. I'll look through them. And while we're arguing about the better of two men, who do you guys think was a better Mystery Science Theater 3000 host: Joel or Mike?"

"Mike," Neville said at the same time Cody blurted: "Joel."

They stared each other down.

"Great, look what I got started," Roman said. The banter went off behind him as he flipped through the t-shirts on a rack. Most of these were extra-large, a bit too big for him, but he couldn't resist picking up a white shirt featuring a chibi Spider-Man reading through one of his own comic books. Beneath the icon, bold letters read: "I HAVE ISSUES." It made him smile.

Several comic books, shirts, and a couple of action figures for his desk later—one of Heisenberg from _Breaking Bad_ , a weeping angel from _Doctor Who_ , and Magneto from _X-Men_ —Roman lugged his purchases up to the counter.

"I'm such a freakin' child," Roman said. "Collecting all these actions figures. I don't even play with them—they just sit on my desk at home."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Neville said, his eyes smiling behind his glasses. Roman knew he wasn't just saying that because Roman's geekiness meant more business for him. Neville was a truly understanding person, a fellow nerd, an outspoken geek without a care who had to protest. Why the hell didn't they hang out more? "You should see my living room. I have collectable statues of all the Doctor Who doctors on my mantle."

"It's true, he does," Cody concurred.

"The ladies love it." Neville rang up the purchases, then squinted at the computer screen. "Just so you know, _Doctor Strange #1_ is coming in in December. You wanna pre-order it?"

"You bet I do," Roman said. "Thanks."

Neville added that to his list. Roman ignored whatever price Neville gave him and handed over his credit card. He didn't spend money on much else. He didn't like to consider himself materialistic, but comic books and shirts defining him as a whole, who he was purely, made him feel more confident in himself. He was accepting who he was, finally, after a lifetime of feeling left out because he wasn't an athlete. He worked out, sure, and he was muscular, but he didn't like jocks or sports or hardcore partying. He was solidifying himself, securing his identity as a proud nerd.

He liked who he was.

It was others that had the trouble accepting it.

For the most part.

"Well, thanks for being our greatest purchase of the day, Roman," Neville said after Roman signed his receipt. "And here we thought we were going to _lose_ money for staying open today."

"I'm happy to help you out."

"And we're happy to have you!" Cody said. "Come see us again soon, and remember, there's always room for you on our team."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, guys."

Roman heaved two great bags off the counter and pushed out of the shop. The wind was picking up, making the snow look like it was coming down much harder than it truly was. Flakes hit him in the face. He stuck his tongue out, trying to catch one of them for the cold, sweet taste.

He _was_ a child again.

Down the street was Acacia Park, a popular gathering area of children during the summer and the homeless year round. It was where a great deal of street musicians gathered to play, whether on their own or in a makeshift band with fellow performers. Roman approached the park on his walk back to the car when his ears picked up a familiar sound.

A familiar voice.

It was Dean, withstanding the cold to play for money, huddled against a concrete barrier between two leafless trees. By his open guitar case, Roman found he was doing rather well today. Dean was tweaking Annie's strings with gloved hands (thank goodness) and eventually put his voice into the music.

" _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

 _Let your heart be light_

 _From now on_

 _Our troubles will be out of sight_."

He opened his eyes and acknowledged Roman's presence with a smile, but continued playing. Roman was happy he hadn't interrupted the beautiful song. He brushed some snow off the barrier and sat next to Dean, listening to him play.

" _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

 _Make the Yule-tide gay_

 _From now on_

 _Our troubles will be miles away_."

It was a slow and steady performance. Not one note was off. Not one word was missed or altered. As unpredictable as Dean was, as irrational his behavior and befuddling his thought process, Roman did appreciate how seriously he took his music. How he'd crafted his talent into total perfection. Dean _was_ the perfect guitarist, no questions asked. No debate about it. The fact that he was a lunatic sort of promoted that idea even further. If there was one thing he had going for him, one perfect abstraction in his unkempt existence, it was his music.

Dean finished the song and reopened his eyes. He hadn't seen three people come by and deposit money into Annie's case. It didn't seem to really be about money anymore. Dean did what he loved because he loved it. What a life to live.

"Guess I'm not allowed to criticize you for playing Christmas music," Roman said. "It's now officially allowed nationwide."

"Psh, nobody tells me when I am and am not allowed to play Christmas music. I'll crank this shit out in the middle of July if I want." Dean smirked, playful. His arm twitched as he readied his fingers for another song.

"You alright?" Roman asked.

"It's a little cold out here," Dean laughed. "Doesn't bother me."

If the sun had presented itself at all that day, it would have been nearly gone from the sky by now. The atmosphere darkened, the frost intensifying. "How long have you been out here?"

"'Bout an hour or so. Maybe longer. I kinda lose track of time." He reached in his pocket and fished out his e-cig. He made sure to blow the sweetly-scented vapor away from Roman's face, with the wind.

"You should probably give your body the chance to warm up a little."

"I'm alright." For the first time, he didn't sound like he meant it.

Roman had an idea. He set some bait and hoped it worked. "What if there was coffee involved?"

Dean pressed his lips together. "What kind of coffee?"

"One of my specialties."

"From J/C?"

"Actually, I still have leftover ingredients from yesterday. They're at my house, if you wanna come over." Roman was surprised by the boldness in his voice. _I must be really growing up_. He couldn't deny how hard his heart was pounding, though.

Dean pondered the decision.

"You can look over the song I wrote," Roman coaxed. "See if we can put some music to it."

A smile threatened to unfold on his lips. Roman almost had him.

"Just you and me, drinking coffee, playing music…and if it gets really cold, you can always put on one of my sweaters and curl up next to me on the couch."

Dean reached for his guitar case. "Sold."

* * *

It would really be the two of them, because Randy wasn't due back in town until Sunday.

Roman couldn't believe it. He'd been daring enough to invite Dean over, just the two of them. His anxiety had plenty of ammunition, but he countered it with his developing confidence. How could Dean rub off on him so much?

 _Side effect of being in love, perhaps_? Roman asked himself. _You're such a sap, Reigns_.

"Your place is a lot nicer than mine," Dean said, stepping in through the door. He slipped out of his wet boots and left them by the door, then carried his guitar case into the living room. "Much cleaner."

"Yeah, it's nice having a roommate who isn't a total slob."

"Mine isn't a total slob."

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant—"

But Dean was chuckling. "I know. Tell me about him."

"Who, Randy?"

"Is that your roommate?"

"Yeah. Uh, he's a cool guy, I guess. Real ladies' man. Loves to party, loves to drink."

"And he's _not_ a total slob?"

"Nah. He picks up after himself. Something I appreciate."

"Is he cute?"

"I go more for personality," Roman admitted.

"Which means he's either a hottie and a total asshole, or he's decent-looking and a respectable dude. And hey, if you go more for personality, guess I'm set there."

" _You're_ cute." Who _was_ he?

"Ha, thanks." Dean opened his guitar case. He absorbed compliments well for someone who didn't seem to care what others thought of him.

"I'll go put this stuff away and get that song," Roman said. "Then get started on our mochas."

"Anyone ever tell you how awesome you are?"

"Yeah. My professor. Every single day. That's why I'm in his course."

"Must be acing that one, Ro."

Roman's chest was swelling. He tossed his bags onto his bed, snatched his History of Psychology from the desk, and returned to the living room with the spiral opened to his finished song.

"I'm really happy you did this," Dean said. "Sounds lame, but when other people take interest in music, I tend to take interest in their interest."

"I get that."

"Yeah, it's probably like you with your comics, right? If I sit here and say, 'Batman is stronger-willed and better-looking than Superman', you think, 'Wow, what an intelligent and totally right guy I have in my life.'"

"Intelligent?" Roman made a face. "Eh…totally right, on the other hand…"

"I _am_ right."

"You're the right guy, alright."

"Damn, we're weird. We should have our own skit on SNL."

Dean glanced over Roman's lyrics, strumming spontaneous chords on his instruments. Roman started on the drinks in the kitchen. He listened to Dean try out different ways to sing each line, repeat each word in a different key until it worked. He was plowing through the song faster, to Roman's full impression, and by the time Roman finished making the drinks (adding the remaining caramel of the jumbo-sized bottle to Dean's), he nearly had the entire thing down.

"This is good, dude," Dean said. "Seriously. These lyrics are killer."

"Thank you." Roman felt proud. He handed a coffee cup to Dean, who took a slow sip, then made a face.

"Ew. Way too sweet."

"Quit bullshitting me."

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Alright. No, it's tastes really good, per usual. Thank you, Mr. Reigns." He took another drink, then set the cup aside for the time being. "Okay. What do you think of this so far?"

Dean cranked out much lower chords than Roman usually heard from him, presenting the song in a darker tone, more somber, the point Roman was aiming to hit.

" _Watching, waiting, wondering, weakening_

 _For the things that might not be_

 _For the things I've yet to see_

 _Hoping, hurting, hurrying, handling_

 _The feelings that rise_

 _Feeling buried alive_

 _There's a light and it's fading to nothing_

 _There's a hope and it's losing its way_

 _Calling my name, each and every day I am_

 _Praying to whoever might be out there listening_

 _Saying, come and save me_

 _Take me far and let me close_

 _My eyes, let me rest in peace_

 _In knowing what you already know_

 _I'm falling, and it kind of scares me, but_

 _I'm just waiting for you to tell me_

 _Everything will be alright_

 _Fading back into the light._ "

Dean drew his playing to a close after the first verse and chorus. "That sound good?"

"Holy hell," Roman said, arms wrapped around his legs as he came back to a shaken reality. " _I_ wrote that?"

"You did," Dean said, smiling.

"And you played it like you knew the entire song before I did."

"It's a gift. No big deal. It sounds very _Breaking Benjamin_ to me. Which is awesome. I like them a lot."

"You're awesome."

"I think we've had this conversation before. This is the part when I say, 'no, you're awesome', and you say something about how it's your major, and we laugh at our lame little joke."

"Do we need a new one?"

"In due time, my Roman. In due time."

 _His Roman_.

That did it.

Roman slid up beside Dean so their arms were touching. He anchored his gaze into Dean's oceanic eyes. It drove him wild, looking at him like this, realizing how real everything was though it felt very much like a dream.

Dean read his mind. He carefully pushed his instrument away, then reclaimed his gaze on Roman, taking Roman in fully, completely, everything he was. Roman loved the hell out of Dean, past, present…and future.

It was unclear who instigated the kiss, because together they came as one, pressing their lips into one another. Dean's mouth fell open in a delighted breath, and Roman plunged his tongue down Dean's throat. Dean fought back with passion, pushing strong against Roman but defenseless against Roman's power. Dean fell back, and Roman wrapped his arms around Dean and gently lowered him to the floor without breaking romantic form. Dean's fingers lifted to graze through Roman's long falling hair. Roman moved his hungry lips from Dean's, planting a kiss on his cheek and lowering towards the collarbone. Dean shivered when Roman's mouth met this area. Roman remembered how sensitive he was. He took his time, moving slowly, not wanting to rush or make Dean jump to the ceiling. _Not yet_ , something told him.

He took the skin of Dean's neck in the gentlest of nibbles. Dean gasped, clutching Roman's hair, pulling him even closer. Roman took it as a sign to keep going, turn up the intensity. He scattered kisses across Dean's collarbone, his tongue gliding over those sweet spots that made Dean moan. He couldn't go any lower as of now. This shirt was in his way.

A phone buzzed.

Dean huffed. It was his. He reached for his pocket and pressed a button to silence the vibration. "Sorry," he grumbled.

Roman pulled Dean to a sitting stance, his hands clutching the bottom of Dean's shirt. He lingered here, waiting for permission. Dean gave a small nod. Permission granted. Roman lifted Dean's shirt over his head, stripping him to a bare chest. His neck was already red and riddled with bite marks. He looked so good. This was so good. He felt his cock stiffening in his jeans from this alone.

"Even trade?" Dean suggested, voice breathy.

Roman grinned, feeling cocky. "Sure."

Dean helped Roman out of his shirt. His eyes broadened, once again taking in the sight of a shirtless Roman Reigns. He didn't feel coy, but rather gratified, watching Dean watch him like this. He didn't work out for nothing.

Dean practically tackled Roman, this time pinning _him_ to the carpet as he enveloped Roman in another vigorous kiss. Roman's nails clawed at Dean's back, a feeling he must have enjoyed, the way he was moving back and forth against Roman's fingers, as if going for just the right spot. Roman's erection perceptible by now. But he preferred Dean beneath him, under his control, under his dominance. He wrapped his arms around Dean tight and lifted him into the air, eliciting a surprised exclaim. He carried Dean towards his bedroom, but not quite there yet. Instead he gently pushed Dean against the wall. Dean's legs wrapped themselves around Roman's waist, and Roman held him there, breath heavy, heart on overload.

"Damn, Ro," Dean breathed.

Roman targeted his sweet spot again, that tender area between his shoulders. He picked up the goosebumps pulling Dean's skin tight. Now it was Dean's stubby nails grabbing into Roman's shoulder, his only means of unleashing just how much pleasure he felt.

Another buzz. Long and loud.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean said. "I'm sorry, Ro. Let me turn it off."

Roman was impatient but not upset. He let Dean off the wall and watched him jog over to his phone, unable to resist checking out Dean's butt as he bent over to fetch the device.

"Oh, my God," he said after a moment of screen staring. "Oh, God, oh, no."

"What?" Roman asked.

Dean looked up at him. The color had drained from his face, and now his eyes were broad out of dread, not ardor.

"It's Seth. He's in the emergency room."


	12. Chapter 12

Roman's tires burned against the frozen roads. Getting pulled over was not a risk he was considering, and wrecking his vehicle and winding up in the hospital alongside Seth wasn't one he _wanted_ to consider. He had to get to Seth, _Dean_ had to get to him, as soon as humanly possible.

Dean sprinted into the waiting room far ahead of Roman, who strived to keep up with him. He smacked his hands against the desk as words tumbled from his mouth. "My name's Dean. My brother Seth is in here. What happened? Is he okay?"

The receptionist was patient—or unconcerned. "He should be out in a little while."

"Can't I go see him?"

"He'll be out shortly," she answered sternly. "You can see him then."

Dean's hand balled into a fist. Roman took hold of him before he tried anything. "Thank you," he told the flippant receptionist. "Come on," he urged Dean. "We just have to wait. I'm sure he's fine. He's here now. They're taking care of him."

"Dammit," Dean snarled under his breath. The hand Roman held loosened in the grip, but the fingers on his other hand curled up tight into his palm. "It was them. I know it was. It was the fucking Wyatt brothers."

"Let's see what the doctors say," Roman said. He wanted to be the rock here, a sturdy support for Dean's fragility. He was concerned for Seth as well, and he would have bet his next paycheck the Wyatt brothers were responsible for his dire circumstances. But one of them had to be strong, the sensible mind. If not, Dean and Roman could have torn this entire waiting room apart, screaming for answers and raging on about the despicable gang.

"A little while" lasted well over two hours. The emergency room was stuffed with impatient, anxious patients, to the surprise of neither Roman nor Dean. Black Friday-sustained injuries, they guessed. People getting into brawls over discounted televisions, swinging fists and feet and even shelved items at one another to score the perfect deal. Roman hated this day. But now, in this situation, he could hate this one in particular all the more.

Dean was clearly miserable. He could never stay sitting still for too long. He paced the floor, hands on his hips, wandering towards the front desk—wherein Roman would interfere and escort him back to the chairs. He pressed his hands to his face and breathed through his fingers. Roman wanted to hold him, but it didn't appear to do any good as Dean was so restless.

At last the door swung open and Seth appeared instead of a triage nurse to summon another patient to an examination room. He looked like hell, with abrasions on his forehead and nose, and an open cut on his upper lip. Dean sprouted from his chair and galloped towards Seth. He opened his arms for a hug which was short-lived as Seth winced and forcefully pulled away.

"Sorry," he groaned. "Pretty bruised under here."

A young female doctor was behind him. "Hi, are you—"

"Family," Dean cut her off. "What happened?"

"He was assaulted." Her eyes fell onto her clipboard. "Bruising on the ribcage, right hip and pelvis, and these lacerations here. Only one of them was bad enough to require stitches, this one here on the forehead."

Dean's hands went over his head. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. "Was it…" Roman heard the unspoken question in his voice.

"Yeah," Seth said, looking sad and somber. _It was them_. Those gray eyes went to Roman. "Hey, Roman."

"Hi, Seth." Roman pitied him. He couldn't imagine how shaken Dean was. He didn't _have_ to imagine—it was all there as if stamped in bold print across Dean's beautiful face.

"I've given him the care instructions he'll need to follow this week." She gave a paper packet to Dean, who automatically handed it off to Roman. "We've already filled out a report with the police. He just needs to be under good care for a little while, but he'll be alright."

"Lucky to be alive," Roman said. The doctor nodded.

"Just come back and see me if you have any other questions, alright, Seth?"

"Sure thing. Thanks, doc," Seth said.

Checkout and payment took a little while longer. Dean offered to cover the expenses upon realizing another painful truth to Seth's predicament: he'd been robbed of his wallet in the attack.

Dean could no longer take the wait. Outside the emergency room in the wintry air, he asked, "What the fuck happened, Seth?"

"I was off work and getting gas on my way home," Seth explained. "Didn't think much of the danger. I get gas all the time, night or day. Decent part of town. Thought nothing of it. Suddenly it was just…pain. Couldn't see much. Just realized I was hurt. I heard incoherent hollering, yelling. Me by myself outside this little gas station. Took me a while to realize I was getting fuckin' ambushed." Seth shivered violently. His jacket was thin and torn in several places. Roman decided to put the explanation on hold until they were in the warm car.

"Let's get you boys home. Come on," he beckoned.

Dean stayed with Seth in the backseat while Roman drove. Roman would have insisted Dean sit back with him anyway, even if it hadn't been Dean's outspoken idea first. "There were a lot of 'em," Seth went on. "Couldn't say how many, exactly. Bray was there. I heard his voice in my head. His laugh. It was creepy as hell. Then, quick as they'd come, they were gone. An attendant from inside was calling the cops. I would have called you, but those fuckers grabbed my phone and my wallet."

"I'm so sorry," Dean said. Roman wondered if the guilt stung just as badly in Dean as it did within him. "I was—wait. You said they took your phone?"

"Yeah. The guy at the gas station, he's the one who called for the police and the ambulance. I don't think I could have called you, even if I had my phone, because I had no idea what was going on."

"Seth, I have a missed call from you, and a text that says 'I'M IN THE ER, HURT BAD.' It even said which hospital you'd been transported to." Dean wrestled his phone out of his jeans' pocket to verify this statement.

"I didn't send it," Seth insisted.

Roman's throat tightened. His neck broke out in a freezing cold sweat. He felt his hands shaking as they gripped the steering wheel tight, his mind drawing the same conclusion Dean was just arriving at.

"They did," Dean said, swallowing hard. "They took your phone and sent that to me."

"But how'd they know which hospital he was at?" Roman inquired.

"They followed me," Seth said, voice low. "Just like they followed me to the gas station. They were… _stalking_ me."

"Seth, they have everything on you now," Roman said, eyeing him in the rearview mirror. It was a horrific thing to say, but the truth was too severe to neglect. "If they have your wallet, they've got your license. Your home address. Your full name. With your phone, they have Dean's info, mine…" He found himself glancing into the rearview mirror more often than usual now, checking for any suspicious vehicles.

Seth leaned his head back and groaned. "I hate these guys so much."

"I'm gonna kill them," Dean said. There it was again, that voice Roman didn't recognize out of his mouth. He was no longer Roman's angelic musician—he sounded like a soul possessed. "I swear to fucking God, I will fucking kill them for this."

"Dean, no," Roman said. "That's exactly what they want out of you."

"Roman's right," Seth concurred. "They used me to get to you. Don't go charging up to them alone—they'll have you where they want you, and that isn't good news for anyone."

"I don't care!" Dean exclaimed. "If it's me they want, then me's all they're gonna get. They can't be dragging my family into this."

"They're not going to get you," Roman contended.

"No, they're not, but they're sure as hell not going to come near Seth again. Or even you, Ro. Not on my life."

"Don't say that, Dean," Seth said.

"Guys, here's a thought, okay?" Roman interrupted before Dean confirmed any demented propositions. "If they have your phone, your address, if they've proven by now they've been _following_ Seth"—he paused once more to check the mirror—"then it's probably not the smartest thing for you guys to go home tonight."

"You think they might break in?" Seth asked, sounding surprised.

"I don't think it's beneath them. I don't even know these guys all that well, but yeah, that sounds like something they would do."

"It sure fucking does," Dean muttered.

"My roommate is out of town. I think it'd be best for you guys to just crash at my place. Just for a night, if you like. I can swing by your apartment tomorrow and check for damage. I just…I don't want you there tonight. Not right now."

"I won't argue with that," Seth stated.

"Yeah, neither will I. Slumber party. Sounds like a hoot." There was no humor in the sentence, no matter how light Dean wanted to sound. "But I don't want you going there alone tomorrow."

"I'll be fine."

"The hell you will."

"You're not coming with me, Dean."

"Ro—"

"We can _all_ go," Seth interjected. "We're safer as a team. Even if they _are_ there—not saying they will be, but if they are—it's still three on four or five, or however many of his hillbilly pricks Bray brings along with him."

Roman didn't like that. He didn't want Dean in harm's way, nor Seth to face any more potential injury. But if this was the only way for things to go, he had to go along for the ride. It was their home, after all. They'd have to go back at some point. "Seth, do your parents know about the Wyatt brothers, by chance?"

"They know Dean's had trouble with specific guys in the past. They don't know the whole story, and we've never used their names around 'em."

"Okay. If this goes on for too long—if they're keeping an eye on your place—might not be a bad idea to stay with them for a few days. Assuming they're cool with that."

"Yeah, they should be. If my mom found out, she'd probably freak. So maybe we don't fill her in _completely_."

"Or we can just move in with Roman and…what was your roommate's name again? Randy?" Dean guessed. "We could all just live together. One big, happy family."

Roman chuckled without smiling. He'd have to learn how again after tonight. "Now, there's a fun thought, but I don't think there's enough room for four of us at my place."

"Shoot. Maybe after you graduate, then."

"We'll see," Roman said, and that was the last of the conversation until Roman swung his car into a parking spot at his apartment complex.

He allowed Seth to change into some of his clothes—they fit him alright, though a little big, a bit loose on his thinner figure—and cleansed Seth's clothes along with some of his own in a quick cycle on the washing machine. Seth had bruising on his ribcage, right hip and pelvis. The damage was awful, but it could have been a lot worse. Roman was thankful it wasn't.

"Got anything I can wear?" Dean asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Take your pick," Roman said, feeling a smile coming on. There it was.

Dean slipped past Roman into his bedroom. Before getting to the closet, he admired everything Roman had, from the towers of textbooks and spirals and composition books by his laptop on his desk, the dozens of action figures, comic books and posters, the bookshelf crammed with CDs, DVDs and books from dozens of genres. Roman was fairly organized. His room wasn't spec-free, but everything had a place where he could find it with no trouble. Overly-clean rooms reminded him of hospitals. They were boring and, for whatever reason, depressing to him. He liked a little mess.

"This one's fitting," Dean said, fingering a painted Superman miniature atop his bookshelf.

It made Roman smile wider. "You really think I'm Superman?"

"Absolutely."

Dean finally made it to the closet, browsing through band tees and collared shirts like he was a customer in a department store. Roman caught him grinning at all the superhero shirts. "Oh, that's awesome," Dean said through laughter, lifting one of Roman's favorite shirts up—it was black, and in yellow print were the letters "NA" in parentheses raised to the sixteenth power; underneath the formula was the word "Batman."

"Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, _Batmaaaan_ ," Dean sang, revealing the joke of the shirt aloud. "Classic Roman. Killer nerd." He yanked it off the hanger and replaced his own shirt with Roman's. "See? You've got a thing for Batman, too. Even as a Superman lover."

"Guess I do." Roman's shirt looked good on Dean. Rather, Dean looked damn good in his clothes.

"Got any sweats? I mean, I'll take them off to sleep, anyway, but…you know."

Roman showed him the drawer of pajama bottoms and allowed him to change in private while he checked on Seth, who he'd laid on the couch under a down comforter.

"Hey, you good?" Roman asked. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine. Roman, listen to me though, okay?" He began to sit up. He couldn't move too much, too fast. "You need to keep an eye on Dean." His voice dropped to hush levels. "I know him. I know how crazy he can act sometimes. He _would_ be the type to go after the Wyatts, on his own, thinking he's protecting us that way."

"I suspected as much."

"Don't let him, okay? No matter what. We need to look out for him."

"I understand. And I agree with you, on everything."

Seth pushed hair from his eyes. "Ro, I love Dean more than anyone on this earth. My family, yeah, sure, love them to death, but for him, it's different. He's more than family to me. He's my best friend. My other half. We've got this massive history, and…" He leaned his head back against the pillow, eyes wide at the ceiling. He cast out a long breath before concluding, "I can't lose him."

Roman sat at the end of the couch, near Seth's feet. "I'm not going to let anything happen to him. I swear that to you, Seth. I'll swear it to him, and right now I swear it to myself. So long as I'm around, nothing else is going to happen to you, and nothing is sure as hell going to happen to him."

"That means so much to me, Roman. You have no idea. Thank you."

"Of course." Roman patted Seth's leg through the blanket. "Now, I'm gonna let Dean take my bed, if he wants, and I'll crash in Randy's room. If he wants to be out here with you, that's fine too. Y'all can use all the blankets and pillows you want."

"You're the best, dude. Seriously. I owe you everything."

"Nah, man, you really don't. Apparently I'm Superman, and this is just my job."

"You need a raise."

Roman smiled. "Thanks."

Dean was in the doorway when Roman returned to him. He wondered how much of the conversation Dean had heard.

"You want my bed, or out here with Seth?" Roman asked him.

"I want your bed, but with you," Dean admitted.

"I'm really sorry, Dean, but I don't think anything should happen tonight…"

"Nothing has to happen. I just want to know I'm not…you know. Alone."

Roman's heart cracked. "You're not alone, Dean. You're never alone. Come here."

Dean fell into his open arms. Roman held him tighter than anything he'd ever held in his life. _So long as I'm holding him, nothing can—_

Dean's phone buzzed.

Roman felt his heart—or was that his _and_ Dean's?—drumming as Dean raised the phone to his face. The screen lit up with Seth's name and photo.

"Fuck," Dean whispered.

"Don't answer it," Roman advised.

He didn't, but the caller had left a voicemail. It was a rather lengthy message that Dean obviously felt he had to listen to. Roman couldn't stop him. He had to agree.

"I tried to warn you, Dean," Bray's distinct voice came through the speaker. Through a sadistic giggle, he said again, "I tried to warn you! I opened up my home to you, Ambrose. I welcomed you into my family. You were a brother. You were a friend. And what did my _brother_ decide to do to me? He decided that he was a little smarter than old Bray Wyatt. He decided to try to fool that silly old Bray Wyatt. You thought you were so clever. You thought you could get away with the heist of the century, like you're some sort of con man…but guess what? I have you, Ambrose. I've had you from the start, and whether you think you're free of me or not…guess what? I still own you. Everything that you are, belongs to me. Your friend, Seth? He suffered tonight because of you. I hurt him real bad, me and my boys. Because he got in the way. He got in the way of what's meant to be. Your destiny lies with us, Dean Ambrose, and nothing is gonna get in the way of that. Your precious Seth Rollins is proof of everything that is to happen if you don't come on home to Bray Wyatt. Who else will suffer for your mistakes, Dean? What about your new friend? The shaggy one? Mr. Muscles? Should I go after him now? Is he my next little plaything? You want it to stop, you can't make it stop, there isn't anything you can do to protect the people you love except come home. The choice is yours. Choose wisely. Either way, I'll be seeing you soon." Laughter.

The voicemail ended.

Dean couldn't say a word. He fell into Roman's embrace again.

"Don't worry, Dean," Roman said, feeling terrified on Dean's behalf. Terrified and angry. How dare this man speak this way, how dare he. He'd messed with the wrong people, and now Roman was involved. He was going to see to Dean and Seth's safety, one way or another.

This was war.

"I won't let anything happen to you."

"I trust you," Dean whimpered.

He was right to do so.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey, guys. Here's a chilling chapter to hold you over during my crazy work weekend. ;) I promise to get more finished in the hours I'm not stranded at my job. Enjoy~**

* * *

Roman caved to Dean's wishes and allowed him to sleep in his bed with him.

Roman's room tended to get very cold at night, especially with whipping winter breezes just outside his window, so he pulled the comforter over their heads and held Dean tight to keep him warm, keep him safe. Dean's natural scent was compelling, his skin heated and silken except for areas such as his hands, calloused and rough from living out his passion of music each day. Roman hadn't noticed the coziness shift out of his hold at some point during the night, a missing Dean until the next morning when Roman woke in a routine early awakening.

The uncertainty activated his mind and muscles. He opened his eyes and peered around the room. Dean wasn't with him.

Had he left?

Had he gone to the apartment?

Roman punted the comforter off himself and pulled on a wrinkled sweatshirt and pair of sweats from the floor. His room was freezing. Remaining in his boxer shorts, he pushed out of the bedroom and rounded into the living room.

Dean and Seth were both there, thank God, still asleep on the couch. Seth was on his back, one arm under Dean, the other under his head. Nestled up to him, facing away, was Dean, two hands tucked underneath his cheek.

Jealousy tried to choke him out, but Roman banished it. Dean hadn't left, making off for the apartment or wherever he could find the Wyatt brothers; that was what was most important. Dean wanted to stay with Seth. Clearly Seth was the important figure here, the one who'd been brutally assaulted the night before. They'd been together, as friends or more, for much longer than Roman had known either of them. They were family. Dean cared for Seth, and Seth cared for Dean.

This was nothing to get jealous of.

At least Dean still had his clothes on.

 _His_ being Roman's.

Roman wandered into the kitchen, then stopped. He considered something. Now was his chance to get on their apartment. Seth and Dean would be out of harm's way—after all, Bray Wyatt didn't know where _he_ lived—and he could be there and back again in less than half an hour.

Perhaps a bit longer, if he arranged for an alibi.

He hoped the boys would stay asleep long enough for him to arrive home before they realized he'd even gone. But by how exhausted they'd both been the night before, by how little either of them were moving now, Roman expected them to remain in their dreams for a little while longer.

He pulled on a coat, slipped into his gloves, grabbed his keys _and_ Dean's, and quietly made his exit.

The only snow was residue from yesterday's nimble storm, yet the sun was shrouded in a deep of pale, fat billows. The roads should have been fine.

Roman let the radio soundtrack his drive. It wasn't a long trip. He was ready for anything—and nothing at all. He always carried a pocketknife with him, often leaving it behind in his car for tool purposes rather than defensive. He was not afraid to use it for it true intent, after what these bastards had done to Seth. What they were doing to Dean. What they threatened, serving chilling words as a warning, to do to Roman.

Dean and Seth's place was on the second floor. The only means for a break-in was through the front door, unless they somehow scaled the brick skeleton of the complex like Spider-Man and gained access through the high window. Roman did not believe Bray Wyatt or his accomplices were capable of such a feat. Approaching the door, Roman couldn't make out any signs of forced entry. He reached for the knob and gave it a tug.

Locked. There wasn't a chance in hell it would have been left unlocked by mistake; not with how rightfully paranoid Seth was.

Roman took it as a good sign that he had to struggle with the doorknob, as Dean so often had to do, to unlock it.

So far things were looking alright.

But he had to be thorough.

Roman pushed the door open with his foot. It swung against the wall.

A draft shoved Roman on his feet. The apartment was _freezing_. Somehow it was just as cold inside as it was outside.

Roman realized both windows in the living room were wide open. The screens had been removed completely.

No chance in hell the boys would have done _that_ on purpose.

Roman slinked like a secret agent into the apartment. The only noises his ears picked up was the gentle rocking of the bathroom door while a mighty winter wind blustered through the wide open windows. Roman hurried to shut these windows.

Had they been in here, after all?

But how had they gotten past a locked door?

Through the windows? Roman found it near impossible for them to ascend the apartment's exterior, remove the screens and get in through what were probably locked windows, without breaking them.

Roman inspected the rest of the apartment, back against each wall Sam Fisher style, wielding his pocketknife as though it was a sword and not a merely two-inch blade. There was nobody else here, luckily for _them_ ; he was alone.

In Dean's bedroom—Roman felt it wasn't the time to swoon over the fact that he was in the resting area of the love of his life—he had a photo of him and Seth on the nightstand. Roman found the picture frame was broken, the glass cracked. Inside Seth's face had been slashed through with a red marker. Dean's face had been circled countless time in thick, bleeding ink.

Shit.

They had been here.

Roman had had enough. He left the bedroom and came into the living room, ready to get the hell out of here.

That's when he noticed one last hint the intruders had left behind.

A message was carved into the wood behind the door. The carving didn't go deep into the lumber, but the four words were accentuated with red marker, perhaps the same marker used to vandalize Dean's picture.

"COME HOME. I'M WAITING."

Outside the violated apartment, Roman got a text from Dean's phone.

 **Where are u? :/**

He replied that he was getting breakfast and inquired Dean and Seth's preferences.

And that they needed to talk.

* * *

Roman brought home "breakfast" from Taco Bell: an A.M. crunch wrap for Seth, a biscuit taco for Dean, and an A.M. grilled taco for himself. He added an order of Cinabbon Delights, knowing how much Dean loved sugary treats.

The boys were awake when Roman arrived. He tossed the bag of food onto the dining room table.

"Thanks for this, Roman," Seth said, drawing a chair for himself at the table.

Dean was quick to sense Roman's unease.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I went by the apartment."

Dean knitted his brows. He was displeased. That was to be expected. "Without us—"

Roman wasn't about to argue over something that was over and done with. "I'm glad I went alone, though. It wasn't good." Roman felt his heart sinking to his stomach as all he'd seen resurfaced in his mind.

"What?" Seth asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Did you see them?" Dean asked, grabbing Roman's hand.

"They weren't there, no. But they got in somehow. Don't know how. All the windows were opened, it was fucking cold. But I really don't think that's how they got in."

"Yeah, the Wyatts aren't exactly acrobats over here," Seth said, unwrapping his crunch wrap.

"Or Spider-Man," Dean said, smiling grimly.

"That's what I thought. But the door was locked when I got there. So how did they get in?"

"Shit!" Seth declared, slamming a fist against the table. "Oh, shit!"

"What?" Dean and Roman cried in unison.

"It was me. My key. They took everything else from me; they must have taken my keys, too. Can't believe I didn't even fucking realize that…" He laughed with a tough of insanity, what could have twisted into sobbing if he let the noise carry on.

"What's crazy is they locked the door behind them," Roman said.

"To make us think it was all safe to go inside?" Dean guessed.

Roman nodded once. "To let you guys know they have full access. Inside and out." It was a subtle message, subtle and chilling. Not a complete assault on Dean and Seth or their property, but an insistent enough missive to declare one prominent piece of information: _we are here_. It was a brutal mind game, psychological warfare.

And they'd be back. They hadn't left the key behind. It was still under their possession.

"Guess I better call the cops," Seth mumbled. He reached for Dean's phone.

"They can't help us," Dean said, staring off somewhere that was neither at Roman nor Seth. "They never do. They never will."

"I still have to report the break-in, Dean." Seth pushed away from the table, abandoning his crunch wrap for the time being. He made the call in Roman's bedroom.

"Was anything taken?" Dean asked, shifting his straying gaze back onto Roman.

"No, I don't think so. The windows were open…there was a picture of you and Seth they drew on…then a message carved into the door."

"What was the message?" Dean so obviously hated to ask but needed to know.

"'Come home. I'm waiting.'"

Dean shook his head. He looked drained, defeated. A glowing gray light Roman had never seen his musician in before.

All he could do was hold Dean close and tight while Seth spoke with the 911 operator.

* * *

Roman had to go to work that afternoon, leaving Dean and Seth under the protection and jurisdiction of the Colorado Springs Police Department. He went about his shift on autopilot, only hearing the orders from his customers but not _listening_ to them, making coffee after coffee and wiping down table after table without being completely aware of all he was doing.

These Wyatt brothers weren't just dangerous. They were sick. Sadistic, grisly beings that were less than human. Roman wasn't afraid of them, he _loathed_ them. He wished the police would arrest them, lock them away for good, and wondered with an anxious mind why the bastards weren't already locked up.

Unless the gangsters were simply that crafty.

 _What if they come after me next…_?

"Hey, Roman, you doing alright, man?" Dolph asked him. Roman realized he'd been staring out the window the past few minutes, breath trapped in his lungs.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure? You don't look it."

"It's nothing, Dolph."

"Okay, I won't nag you. Was just trying to help, that's all."

Roman sighed. He shouldn't take his aggression out on kind hearts like Dolph Ziggler. _No wonder I don't have too many friends_. "Sorry, Dolph. It's just, Dean's in a little trouble, and I'm trying to find out how to help him."

"What kind of trouble? Like, with the law?"

"Not exactly."

"Like…"

"Like I don't really want to share because it's his business, not mine. But he's freaking out, and I'm trying not to freak out with him."

"Okay. Well, I know you and I are hardly the BFFs, let alone me and your boy, but Lana and me, we're really good at getting out of sticky situations ourselves. So just let us know how we can help. If he needs money, you can take out a loan from me. You need a shoulder to cry on?" Dolph flexed his arm muscles and said, "Got plenty of room on here."

Roman smiled. He'd managed to help a little. "Thanks, Dolph."

Sometime later, when the crowds had died down and afternoon rolled into an arctic evening, a customer dressed all in black shoved through the glass doors. "Roman," he said.

Roman was about to enter a mixed combination of panic mode and a fighter's stance. He realized under the black coat, gloves, boots and beanie hat was Seth. Not Bray Wyatt or any of his morbid abettors.

"Hey, Seth," Roman said. "Everything taken care of?"

"Yeah, we talked to the police, the landlord, filled out all kinds of reports and shit. I arranged to stay at my parents' place, so good call there."

"Good. What about Dean?"

"He said he was gonna swing by here and see if he could stay with you. If not, my parents'll take him in, too."

"He said he was coming by _here_?"

"Yeah." Some color drained from Seth's frozen face. "Is he not…here?"

Roman chewed the inside of his cheek. "No…but maybe he's just not here yet."

"This was two hours ago."

Roman and Seth stared each other down. All sense of serenity was swept away in the cold wind Seth had ushered into the coffeeshop with him. Roman's eyes punctured Seth's. His had lost all color. Nothing but gray bleak as the realization skulked over both of them.

Where the hell was Dean?

* * *

 **Ooh, please don't hate me for that ending, guys! I promise I'll be back soon to bring you more of this tale! :)**

 **PS; Reviews make my day!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey again, my lovelies.. I cranked this chapter out for y'all during a very slow afternoon at work. Wasn't that nice of me? ;) I call it "Retaliation" for more than one reason. Enjoy!**

* * *

Roman wasn't supposed to be off work for another hour, but he couldn't stick around for a minute longer. Dolph, seeming to understand the gravity of the situation just moments after discovering Dean's dilemma, offered to cover Roman's last hour for him. Roman swore he'd work any upcoming shift for Dolph to thank him, as long as it didn't interfere with his school schedule. Dolph just brandished an appreciative hand and said, "Go get your boy."

"Where the hell could he have gone?" Roman barked outside, heated and fretful. He'd done a wonderful job countering his anxiety over the past several weeks, and now a rampant panic attack was in full swing. He wrestled himself into his coat, at first pulling his left arm into the right sleeve. He wasn't concerned with the temperature. He felt feverish by his apprehension, anyway.

"I don't know," Seth said, wrenching the passenger door open as soon as Roman unlocked the car. "He won't answer his phone. I tried it a million times."

"Fuck," Roman said. The engine roared to life with a twist of his key. A dreadful thought cornered his desperate heart. "You don't think he..."

"What? Went back to the Wyatts?"

"You don't think so, right?"

Seth drummed a clenched fist on his knee. "No. There's no way. _Hell_ no."

"You know him better than I do, so I just had to hear you say it."

"Dean's a nut. He's illogical and fanatical and never thinks things through before jumping into whatever it is. But he's not an idiot. He's a faithful, selfless human being. He's with us now, and he'd never go down that road again."

"So it would make sense, then, if he went back to the Wyatts to keep us out of harm's way."

"I don't see it happening."

Roman hoped with all his heart that was true. "Where the hell do we look?"

"We'll check your place first. Maybe I'm an idiot and he said he was going to your _place_ to talk to you, not the coffeehouse."

"But you both knew I was at work."

"Maybe he figured you'd be off by now?" Seth didn't sound so convinced of that himself. Roman valued his attempted optimism.

"Okay. We'll check my place first. Then where?"

"Downtown. All his hangouts. The park, his corner, Zodiac...15C."

Roman recalled the last entry on Seth's list as the bar where Dean had first met Bray Wyatt. _Please, God, don't let us find him there_.

Dean was not at Roman's apartment. He had no access into the facility on his own, and he wasn't sitting out in the parking lot, lonely in the cold. It brought about a sense of relief and a fresh sense of urgency concurrently.

"Downtown we go," Roman said. He was grateful to be behind the wheel. He couldn't imagine Seth going a mile over the speed limit, even in their dismal position. Inside the car was spooky quiet. Outside, wind thrashed and tires squealed against wet asphalt.

"I swear if he went back to them..." Seth said, more to himself than Roman. "I can't even imagine what I'd do..."

"I thought you said he wouldn't," Roman said, using a gruff voice to mask his fear. Though it was apparent to Seth and to himself.

Seth shoved hair from his face, the mane somersaulting over his head. "There's no telling what he's going to do at any given point, at any given time. I have no idea. For all I know, he could have either gone crawling back to the Wyatts to protect us...gone on a walk just to cool down...he could have plotted some kind of revenge on them...maybe he skipped town just so he wouldn't have to deal with it all."

" _That_ doesn't seem likely." Roman exited the highway and found himself on the brink of downtown at the next turn.

"No, it doesn't. He's spent his entire life running. He's not really one to settle down, until he met me. If there's anything I know about Dean for a fact, anything at all, it's he never walks away from people he really, truly loves."

"And how many people like that exist in the world?" Roman screeched the car to a stop as a car turned left in front of him on an unprotected green light. The other driver had the nerve to honk at Roman for nearly hitting him. Roman kept his hands on the wheel, resisting the urge to flip him off.

"Not many. Like I said. He doesn't open up much, for anyone."

"Except...us?"

"Guess we're just special."

Roman made a right, searching desperately for any available parking spots. He didn't care if he had to pay or not. "We'll find him, Seth. He's going to be alright."

"He _has_ to be. Or else..." Seth stared out the window, his breath casting a thin cloud over the cold glass. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Roman parked the car, and he and Seth sprung into the bitter evening.

There was a man playing guitar near Dean's usual area at Acacia Park, but Roman knew from a distance it wasn't his musician. He was much too big in stature, too whiny in voice. He made a side note, a completely irrelevant note, that Dean was the most talented musician to ever play in this area, and he deserved better than even his coffee shop on Thursday evenings.

They couldn't find him on any other corners.

The staff at Zodiac hadn't seen him.

15C had just opened. The place was vacant, awaiting their Saturday night crowd.

Roman was trembling for reasons other than the weather. His arms felt heavy. His heart was sheathed in a dark cloud that threatened to morph into a twister. _Dammit, Dean, where are you, where are you_...

"Where else?" Roman asked outside the smoky bar, feeling powerless.

"Let me think," Seth said, voice quaking. He pressed his hands over his mouth and closed his tired eyes.

Roman's phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He extracted the buzzing devide from its fabric receptacle and bit his lip, looking at the screen.

"Is it Dean?" Seth asked.

Roman shook his head. "Don't recognize the number." His chest constricted. His thoughts were choppy, daunting words instead of complete sentences. _Bray Wyatt. Dean. Kidnapped. Ransom. Scared. So scared_.

"Hello?" Roman answered.

"Hey, Ro."

He drew in a gasp, and his eyes fell closed once more. A tear squeezed from the corner of his left eye and glided down his cheek.

"Dean," he breathed. _Oh, thank God._

"Where the hell is he?" Seth demanded.

"Where are you?"

"The library. Wanna come pick me up?"

Roman's brows knitted, forehead crinkled. He looked at Seth, bewildered.

"The library?"

* * *

Penrose Library was perhaps the most silenced, still place one could be downtown Colorado Springs on a Saturday night. Business was nearly at a standstill, even with a couple of hours left until closing. It was the last place Roman ever expected to find Dean Ambrose, but sure enough, as he'd told Seth over the phone - an ancient corded widget he'd used in the lobby - he was tucked away in a study room on the second floor, beyond shelves of historical and war books. He sat at the table with a couple of notebooks open in front of him, twirling a mechanical pencil around his thumb. He was wearing the same outfit from the night before: Roman's Batman shirt and his black sweatpants. He looked fine, his hair no more disheveled than it usually appeared, the clothes over him only as wrinkly as they had been from his night's sleep on the couch. No abrasions, no bruises, no signs he'd gotten into any recent physical altercations.

He was fine.

Roman nearly collapsed on the floor.

"Hey, guys," Dean said. Against all the panic Seth and Roman had just suffered for him, he was _smiling_.

"Are you hurt?" Seth asked, wandering around the round table to Dean's side.

"No. I'm alright."

Seth punched him in the shoulder, an deed that gained very little result. "Did you pick the library so I wouldn't be allowed to fucking yell at you?"

"Why would you yell at me?" Dean asked, truly shocked by Seth's irritation.

"We were worried sick about you, Dean," Roman said, presenting himself as much calmer than he really felt. He couldn't even feel much anger towards Dean; Roman was just delighted to find him alive.

"Where the hell have you been?" Seth demanded. He folded his arms over his chest like an angry parent. "We thought the Wyatts had gotten hold of you."

Dean snorted. He stared down at the writing in one of the notebooks, then scribbled something onto the blank page of the other. "They wish. But no. They didn't snatch me, and I didn't go crawling back to them. You guys didn't really think I would, did you?" There it was again, that genuine surprise on his face that he bestowed onto Seth, then Roman.

"Well..." Roman tried.

"We didn't know what the hell to think, Dean. You lied about where you were going, you didn't answer your phone-"

"Oh, yeah," he said, unceasingly writing in the notebook, "I need a new one, by the way. I destroyed my old one."

Seth was dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Same reason I didn't tell you where I was going. I had some business to take care of, and I didn't want to be followed. I didn't want either of you to get hurt."

An exasperated Seth dropped into the chair next to him. "Jesus, Dean."

Roman lowered himself in the chair across from Dean. "Just tell us what happened, Dean. You owe us that much, after all we went through."

"How scared we were," Seth included.

"I really didn't mean to scare you guys. I go off by myself all the time. Didn't think this time was so different."

"Things are different now, idiot," Seth said.

"I'll tell you everything," Dean declared. "If you really want to know."

Seth leaned over the table, arms still folded. "Go on."

Dean lowered the pencil to the table and folded his soft hands. "I was pissed earlier. Pissed at the Wyatts. They'd targeted my best friend, broken into my home, taunting me over and over, trying to get me to rejoin their band of sick hicks. They weren't going to stop. No matter what I did, until I made myself part of their family again, it wasn't going to stop. So I decided to pay a little visit to one of their own."

Seth groaned. "You _did_ go back to them-"

Dean put up a hand, stopping Seth mid-sentence. "No. Not to them. To Bray Wyatt's sister."

"He has a sister?" Roman inquired.

"Yeah. Abigail. I got to know her a little bit when I was rolling with the Wyatts. She's pretty cool. She has nothing to do with her brother's gang, but she loves him through everything he does. Family first and all that." Dean scratched his nose. "I went by her work to see if she was there. She was. She was obviously shocked to see me. She was telling me how Bray wants my head on a platter and all that. I asked her for a favor. Told her I still had some stuff at mine at Bray's house. Needed to get in there and get it. Knew how much Bray wanted to skin me alive, so I couldn't exactly ask him. I buttered her up. Made her feel all pretty and special. Worked like a charm. She took me to his place. The one thing I never learned, rolling with these guys, was where Bray Wyatt lived. And she took me right to his doorstep." He chuckled, deviant, proud of this accomplishment."

"Jesus," Seth whispered.

"She told me to make it fast. I told her to watch the front door for him. She obeyed. Gave me enough time to get in there for what I wanted. I wanted him to know I'd been there without it being too obvious. Then I realized I didn't care how subtle it was: my message needed to be _clear_ , like his. I used a pair of scissors I found in the kitchen to draw the anarchy symbol on his bedroom door. I cut open his pillows and threw the fluff everywhere. I stabbed his mirror until there was a huge puncture mark. Went through his closet, cut up some of his clothes. Abigail found me. She wondered what the hell I was up to. And I made her cut her hair."

It took Roman a moment to process that last bit. "You...what?"

"Yep. She had a beautiful, flowing black mane, and I told her to cut it off. And she did. She was scared of what I might do to her otherwise. I wasn't going to hurt her or anything. I'm not an asshole. But whatever she believed, it worked. She looks like Anne Hathaway now."

"W-why?" Seth asked. "Why make the girl cut her hair?"

"Another message to Bray Wyatt. To let him know I could have been really mean to his little sister. I could have hurt her, made her do all sorts of things. But I didn't. Just asked her to cut her hair. I didn't make her do anything _too_ terrible, but it was clear who had power there. Who had control. She obeyed me. I laid the hair on his bed and told her to tell the truth if she asked what happened. 'Oh, that Dean Ambrose tricked me into letting him into your home, and he fucked a bunch of shit up.' Then, after finding Bray Wyatt's most precious possession, I left."

"What's Bray Wyatt's most precious possession?" Roman asked. He had a feeling the notebooks were involved in that equation.

Sure enough, Dean waved at the two spiral-bound pads. "His client list. All the people he comes into contact with over drug trades, car jackings, fellow gang members, rival gang members, the works. It's his diary, essentially. His entire operation, now under my control. And after I copy all the information over into my own notebook, I'm going to mail this back to him in pieces. Let him know _I'm_ the one who reigns. _I'm_ the one in charge of my actions, my life. He'll be helpless against my assault. I can unravel his entire kingdom, just with what I find in this book." He tapped the worn-down notebook with a dirty finger.

Seth looked to Roman, looking weary. Roman didn't know what to say. This was madness. This was difficult to believe.

This was very...Dean.

Dean closed the book. "Figured this was the safest place I could hide away from the Wyatts until I got a hold of you again. Those idiots don't know how to read, let alone fancy themselves in a place like this in their free time."

Seth shook his head. "Dean, sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world knowing you."

"I know. Yet you stick around. And I appreciate that, even though I've told you countless times that I'm a freak. I'm bad news. It's never too late for you to bail. That goes for you too, Roman." His blue eyes drowned Roman in a sea of unexpected bliss, the eye of the storm. "You have college. A job. A whole life ahead of you. Me, I'm not about that. And as much as it would hurt to lose you, I'd understand if one day you called it quits on me and walked. I'd get it."

Roman sighed. "I just want to get you home, okay?"

"Your home?"

"My home. Seth, you heading back to your parents' house?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Seth said. "But my car is still at the coffeehouse."

"I'll give you a lift."

"But I swear to God, Dean," Seth said, raising from the chair and pointing a finger Dean's way. "If you ever run off like that again and not tell me where you're going, I'll finish you off myself."

Dean stood up. "I love you, Seth. I love you more than anyone. Everything I do is to protect you. You're not going to suffer on my behalf anymore." He locked Seth in a hold that Seth couldn't stand up against. He hugged Dean back, tight.

He moved onto Roman next. "Don't ever hold your breath over me. Worrying is a waste of time. Whenever I get around to worrying about you, I lose my mind. I hate it. I want to do something about it, and more often than not, it's a really stupid something."

"Agreed."

"So try not to, okay?"

"I'm still going to."

"Just let me be the one to make all the stupid decisions, alright?"

"How about just don't make stupid decisions anymore?"

"Hey, there's an idea," Seth chimed.

"Once the Wyatts get off my ass, maybe I won't resort to such drastic measures all the time. But this had to be done. They have to know the truth: I'm above them, and they're not getting me back."

Dean lifted to his toes and pressed a kiss into Roman's lips. All forms of protest and insistence Roman had against Dean, the love of his life, melted away in the heat of the moment. Roman kissed him back, strong and sweet.

"Come on. Let's get out of here." Dean's fingers entwined with Roman's. "If I spend too much longer in here, people might mistake me for a nerd like you, Ro."


	15. Chapter 15

**This terribly overdue chapter might be worth it.. Dean and Roman get some sexy times in at long last! I don't write smut often, so bear with me if some of it sounds really strange. I'm definitely practicing. Writing, that is. ;) If you're not a fan of smut...what are you even doing here? D: No, I kid! You can just skip this chapter if the content makes you uncomfortable. You're not missing anything story-wise.. except what I hope is a really hot scene. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

" _Whoooo_ ," Dean said, mimicking the sound of the wintry gale following him and Roman into the apartment. The place was starting to look a bit disordered. Roman would have to tidy up a little before Randy got home tomorrow. Even if Randy wouldn't appreciate it, Roman knew he would have if the roles were reversed. "Some night, huh?"

Roman locked the door securely behind them. He was certain they hadn't been followed. He'd checked—numerous times, borderline obsessively—on the drive here. "Dean, you scared the hell out of me tonight."

Dean's figure went stiff in wonder at Roman's frank remark. "Ro, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to—"

"I know. But it got me to realize just how much you mean to me. And how I would _hate_ …" He took Dean's hand in his own. "To lose you. I care so much about you. I lo—"

The word throttled him, wedging in his throat.

He'd never told anyone he'd loved them before, outside of family members, and even then, it was pretty much a given and he didn't have to speak the word aloud so often. He wished he'd asked Randy for advice on how to follow through with this simple—yet profound—statement.

But did Randy truly know what love was?

Maybe Dolph could have given him some pointers. Maybe there was a process. Ten steps to tell the one you're with you love them, without coming across as sounding completely desperate.

 _You're overthinking this_ , Roman rebuked himself.

But Dean's lips were twitching. They gave into a smile. He squeezed Roman's hand back and said, "More than words. Don't tell me—show me."

Roman could do that for sure.

He pulled Dean into an unyielding kiss. He did not work up to using his tongue, opening his mouth—he lured Dean's lips apart in an instant and plunged his tongue deep in Dean's mouth, exploring every inch. He took Dean's bottom lip in a bite. Dean groaned, his muscles shivering.

"Don't give in yet," Roman said, voice suave and slick, one he didn't recognize from himself. "I've only just begun."

Roman walked Dean towards his room, without breaking the kiss or their romantic form. He drew Dean to the edge of the bed, surprised and impressed with himself for navigating the area without accidentally throwing Dean into a wall or tripping over anything.

"You ever do anything like this before?" Dean breathed when Roman came up for air.

"No," Roman admitted. "You?"

Dean winced. That answered Roman's question. _Shit,_ he thought, _what do I have to live up to_?

"It wasn't special," Dean said, calming Roman's anxiety. "One-time drunken mistake. This means a _little_ more."

"Ah. Alright." Roman was going on his instincts, not experience. He was doing what felt right.

And Dean felt just right.

Roman stood up straight and tugged out of his shirt, watching the awe unfurl over Dean's face. The fact that Dean looked at him this way, knowing he was physically desirable to his love, was encouraging.

"Even trade?" Roman offered. Dean smiled. This time Roman hoped and prayed they wouldn't be interrupted by another troubling text message.

Dean flung the shirt to the other side of the room. Roman drank the sight of him in like a parched animal. He pressed into Dean again, one hand behind his head, lowering Dean onto his back. The kisses spread like wildfire from Dean's lips down to his neck. Dean trembled when Roman's mouth met this delicate spot. Roman, knowing from experience how much he liked it here, lingered a while in this area. His tongue and teeth were weapons in a delicious war.

Dean jolted when the pleasure became too much, and he yanked at Roman's hair.

Roman's heart was pummeling beneath his ribcage as his trembling hand glided down Dean's chest and stroked, teased the skin above the waistline of his pants.

"Touch me, Roman," Dean whimpered. "I want you to touch me."

Roman complied.

His hand sank beneath the fabric of Dean's pants, and Dean let out an excited pant when Roman's firm hand grasped his pulsating cock. It was bigger than Roman even imagined, as he rubbed Dean up and down, up and down.

Dean was melting on his bed. He gripped Roman's shoulders tight, groaning, huffing, firing off words that were mixtures of other words: " _fuckshitfuckingholyfucking_ —"

Roman grinned. It made him feel confident, enthusiastic. He skimmed his tongue over Dean's glistening red neck. He felt Dean going limp, submitting to the coupled strikes of pleasure.

Dean lifted into another kiss, desperate for more of Roman. Roman felt uncomfortably rigid in his pants. He drew his lips away from the neck for just a moment so he could free his erection.

"Fucking hell, Roman," Dean groaned. Roman had never seen his eyes surge that wide before. "I mean, _God_ , you look good. What am I compared to you?"

"Perfect?" Roman guessed.

"Hardly."

"I can always find out for myself…" He took the legs of Dean's pants in a hold between his fingers.

Dean nodded, eyes closed, trying to regain his breath. Roman had permission.

Roman slid the pants off Dean.

Dean was _huge_ —interestingly, not quite as big as Roman; even so, a massive man, a hard cock that all but begged for Roman to tend to it more. Roman reclaimed his position on top of Dean. Nothing in the world felt better than their heated, sweating skin pressed against together like this.

Roman noticed Dean grimacing as he continued massaging his cock. "Are you alright?" Roman asked.

"Just hurts a little without lube," Dean grumbled, sounding apologetic.

 _Oh_.

Roman thought of a solution. He snaked down Dean's glowing body. He lapped his tongue gently over Dean's cock.

Dean practically shot out of the bed at the sensation. His fingers clawed the sheets under him, and his breath was sputtering and unstable. It spurred Roman's confidence on. Roman flooded Dean's dick, his tongue swirling over the head, his mouth swallowing around it. He couldn't take all of Dean into his mouth, down his throat, without the risk of choking.

He wasn't too disappointed in the fact.

When Dean was lathered up nice and slick, Roman continued stroking his cock up and down with a much more steady hand. He wasn't trembling. He wasn't nervous. He was overpowered with a sense of dominance. Dean was _his_. Dean was his light and his world, and nobody would take him away from Roman.

"Roman, I'm getting close," Dean mewled.

So soon? This must have been very exciting for Dean. Roman was damn proud of himself. Before Roman could crawl on top of Dean again, Dean scurried to meet Roman at the edge of the bed. Dean stood on his knees, his cock pointing straight up. Roman was on his knees as well. Dean reached forward and took Roman's own member in a hold. Roman nearly collapsed at the new sensation.

Roman tugged on Dean up and down, and Dean did the same on Roman. They pressed into each other, lips and chest, hands and hearts. Roman's other hand moved behind Dean's head, and he pushed Dean even closer into him. Dean's tongue was a dancer, darting from one side of Roman's mouth to the other. Roman took a handful of Dean's hair in a clench. Dean's other hand massaged Roman's taut chest. Roman was desperate for air, desperate for more of Dean. They were this close and somehow Roman wanted to be even closer.

"Come for me, Dean," Roman husked, voice almost hostile in its demand. _Guess I know I'm a top guy_. "I want you to come for me. That's it. Just like that. You want to come? Come for me, Ambrose."

Dean let out a soft cry. His body shook, rigorous. That had done it.

Sticky white fluid discharged from Dean's thrumming cock. Roman's hold allowed him to aim the release onto his own body, Dean's juices streaming onto his abs and dripping down towards his shaft. He didn't stop rubbing until Dean's body slowed from jerking to stillness, breath from quickness and sharpness to a wholehearted sign of immense satisfaction.

He fell loose in Roman's arms. Roman chuckled, holding him tight.

" _Fuck_ , that was amazing," Dean groaned, shoving hair from his face. "Holy shit."

Roman kissed his forehead. It tasted salty, of sweat, but Roman didn't care.

"Your turn," Dean said fiendishly. "Not exactly fair if I get to finish off and you don't."

Before Roman could consent, Dean bent far over and took Roman's dick in a hard suck.

Roman gasped. Never had he ever felt anything like this before. His hands went to Dean's back, and his fingers dug into the pulled skin of Dean's back as Dean moved his open lips up and down Roman's cock, up and down, over and over.

As confident and dominant as Roman had felt earlier, suddenly _he_ was submissive and yielding to his Dean. Now Dean was the man in charge. It didn't take long for the pressure to build deep in Roman and unleash. Roman's frame shook as though electrocuted as the orgasm struck him just as quick and vehement as lightning. Dean didn't let up as Roman felt himself coming. Dean took every drop of Roman's juices in his mouth, down his throat. To feel Dean _swallow_ while his lips were still secured around his member…that was a sensation that could not be matched.

Dean sat up, rubbing his lips of excess semen and licking them off his fingers seductively.

Roman collapsed onto the bed, so tired but feeling so good.

The cocky Dean Ambrose nestled up beside Roman, touching his mighty arm.

"I love you," Roman said in a pant. After that he barely had the power to move his arms over Dean and hold him tight. Yet he managed.

"I already know," Dean teased, quoting his favorite song. "I love you, too."


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey, guys! Here's the next chapter for you. Fluffy goodness as well as a bit of drama, because our Lunatic Fringe can never be completely out of trouble, can he? ;)**

 **Oh, and for those of you who follow my Shield 2.0 story, I'm taking a break on that particular project for now. The ending is coming up for it really fast, and I want the time to execute a good ending instead of shoving any crap your way. My readers deserve my best work. :)**

 **Enjoy~**

* * *

If one month ago, someone had told Roman he'd be waking up one morning with his musician, the love of his life, in his arms in his own bed after _that_ kind of night together, he would have asked for the number of said someone's drug dealer to find out what kind of crack they were smoking to put them in such a loco state of belief.

Roman awoke before Dean. Dean was still in his arms, eyes closed in a serene reverie, having not run off at some point in the night. The room was cold. Roman drew the blanket over his shoulders and restrengthened his grip around Dean. He kissed Dean's hair gently. He wondered what Dean was dreaming about.

He felt quite refreshed, as though he'd been asleep for days instead of hours. Revitalized, soothed, happy.

Happy, above all.

Who needed drugs of any kind when being _this_ happy was achievable for a human, even one so anxious and insecure as he?

Achievable. More than enough.

Roman held Dean in bed, eyes closed without falling into sleep again. He knew he'd have to get up at some point and get to work. He realized with a pain in his head that today he'd have to report in even earlier, to reimburse Dolph for covering him a few days ago. Getting his phone was not a feasible task at the moment. Not without bumming himself out by letting go of Dean.

Roman kissed Dean's hair again. God, he loved Dean. God, God, _God_ , Almighty Lord of _heaven_ , he loved Dean. Why had he been so afraid of falling in love before? How silly he'd been. How frightful like a child, afraid to _feel_. He was open now, exposed, his soul stripped bare for the world to see. He wanted to climb a mountain and shout to the world what he felt for Dean.

That, however, was no feasible task, either.

Dean groaned, shifting in his sleep. Roman watched his eyes flit open. He blinked sleep away, mouth stretched into a yawn. He glanced up at Roman and said with a tired smile, "Morning."

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Best I've slept in years," Dean said. "What time is it?"

"No idea."

Dean was the clearly the smart one today. He looked over at Roman's alarm clock, behind Roman's muscular back. "Eleven fifty-two."

"Are you serious?" Roman was surprised. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in, by willingness or not.

"Yup. That _was_ a good sleep."

"I don't want to go to work," Roman grumbled.

Dean spun onto his other side so he was facing Roman. "Call in sick."

"Wish I could. I'm helping cover Dolph today, though."

"Oh, yeah. Look at you, being all devoted to your promises."

"Yeah. You're making it real hard for me to wanna keep that promise, though." Roman could feel his cock gearing up for round two with Dean, just taking in the sight of his heated yet goosebumps-ridden body so close to his own.

"Oh, I could make it a _lot_ harder." Dean grinned. Whether or not he was aware of the pun was unclear. He put a firm hand on Roman's hipbone. Calloused fingers massaged the prickling flesh there. Roman was so weak. He hated his job at that moment. Hated it more than anything in the world. Dean pushed forward, binding Roman's lips in a near unbreakable spell.

"Trust me," Roman groaned, "there's nothing more in the world I'd rather do than lay here with you all day."

"We might get bored after a while, though."

"I doubt it."

"Yeah, me too." That cocky grin of his was so goddamn compulsive, it drove Roman mad. Dean kissed him again, quicker, harder. Then he pushed the blanket off, revealing his nude figure once more in full. "But I'm not gonna be the one who gets you fired. Playing on Thursday nights would be really boring without you there." He strode towards the closet. Roman wasn't able to resist checking him out on his way. "Mind if I steal just one more outfit from you? I'll probably need to go home and get my own clothes at some point, but…"

"I don't mind."

"Great. Thanks."

"Can I tell you something, though?" Roman asked, pushing out of bed himself.

"Sure. Oh, wait, is it that you're actually a secret service agent here to bust me for my involvement with the Wyatts? Because I swear, it was a one-time thing and I'm not going back to that life."

"Shoot, that's _exactly_ what I was going to tell you. What am I supposed to do with these handcuffs?"

Dean shot a that devilish little grin back at him again. Roman was a swish of his hair away from tackling him to the floor, throwing work to hell, and making love to him again. "What is it?" He pushed through a long row of nerdy shirts. Roman didn't wear much else. Plain shirts for work, geeky attire for his own innocent pleasure.

"I had a massive crush on you long before I knew who you were."

"Did you, now?"

"Yeah. I looked forward to those Thursday nights because I knew I'd get to see you."

Roman caught the side of Dean's face. Was he blushing? Had Roman actually gotten his Lunatic Fringe to redden? "Thanks, Ro. That's really sweet of you to say."

"It's true."

"I'm not used to that."

"Really? You?"

"Not much of a ladies' man, Ro. Now, _definitely_ not." Dean wrestled a white shirt off a hanger. "You were quite the looker yourself." He grinned at the shirt's art. It was Roman's newest shirt, the Spider-Man reading his own comic.

" _Were_?" Roman teased.

"Are. Forever will be."

"Aw."

Dean pulled the shirt on over his cut chest. It was a little big on him—extra-large had been Roman's only option in the purchase—but the size difference made Dean that much more adorable.

 _I'm a wreck. And I'm okay with that_.

"What time do you work?"

"One."

"We have time for some breakfast."

"I don't have much around here," Roman said, wincing.

Dean made Roman laugh by browsing through his hanging pants and jeans next. "Maybe we could hit up the Wayside Cafe."

"Will we have time?"

Dean put a thumb to his lips. "Maybe not."

"Tell you what. We'll grab something at Java Central. I can use my discount, and you can have as many muffins as you want."

"Oh, _you're_ paying this time? Such a gentleman."

"That sounds like a plan." Roman stepped into a littered pair of jeans.

He heard a slam outside his bedroom door.

Dean's face lost all its color. "The hell was that?"

Roman's protective side kicked in. He stepped in front of Dean, grabbed his pocketknife from the desk, and put a hand on the doorknob. He pulled the door open with a grunt and jumped out of his bedroom, employing the cutting tool like a saber.

Randy, filling up a glass from the cupboard with sink water, eyed Roman and put up a defensive hand. "Hey, relax, it's just me. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya. I thought you might have been asleep."

Roman cast out a relieved exhale. "Thank God."

"Don't look so spooked, buddy," Randy laughed. "I told you I'd be back today."

"Didn't you say Sunday afternoon?"

"Yeah, but apparently there's a snowstorm coming in later. I wanted to beat it home so I wouldn't be stranded at the airport."

Roman craned his head back towards Dean. "It's just my roommate."

Dean put a hand to his chest. "Phew. For a minute there, I was worried…"

He didn't have to finish the sentence for Roman to understand—and relate.

"Who you talking to?" Randy asked, lips twisting into a teasing smile.

 _Well, now he gets to learn for sure_.

Roman beckoned for Dean to follow him out of the room. Randy's smile faltered ever so slightly. Clearly he hadn't been prepared for this. Roman couldn't blame him. He'd never brought anyone home before, male or female. He wasn't Randy.

"Randy, this is Dean Ambrose," Roman said. "Dean, this is my roommate, Randy Orton."

Dean stepped forward in his usual confident manner, arm stretched out. "Hey, how ya doing?"

"Oh, fine," Randy said. He gave Roman an unsure look. "So…"

"So."

Dean looked from Randy to Roman, still holding Randy's hand, unsure of the confusion.

"Dean and I are together," Roman said. Was that right? Were they official? They'd kissed and slept together, sure. But were they in a committed relationship now thanks to that? What _were_ they?

Dean was there to verify. "Yup. We sure are."

"That's cool!" Randy said, overplaying his acceptance a tad. It was better than a total freakout, though. "That's good. I'm glad you found someone to make you happy, Roman. I've been trying to set him up for years now. Nobody really fit the bill."

"Well, I guess I'm special," Dean said.

"You must be," Randy said.

"I'm gonna get dressed and start getting ready to go," Roman said.

"I'll join you," Dean said. "Good to meet you, Randy."

"Hey, yeah, you too, Dean," Randy said.

Dean scurried back into Roman's bedroom. Randy held out his fist.

"What's this for?" Roman asked.

"You found someone to make you happy. 'Bout time!" Randy cheered.

Roman gave into a smile, fist-bumping his roommate. Maybe Randy was a lot cooler than he first guessed.

* * *

"So, what do you want for Christmas?"

Dean ripped the top of his blueberry muffin off and lassoed it into his mouth with an experienced tongue. "Dunno," he said, swallowing the mass of baked dough in a gulp. "Never really did the Christmas thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my family was always broke as shit. My dad's was in and out of prison a lot, so we didn't get him home half the time, let alone for the holiday season every year."

Roman was grateful Dean had entrusted him with this private information, distressing as it was.

"My mom tried to scrounge up money every year for gifts for us kids, but it was never more than one or two cheap little things. She said it was best to save money for shit that _mattered_. Bills, food, gas for the car, _et cetera_." Dean dug a single blueberry out of the muffin and popped it into his mouth. "When my brother got a job, he tried pitching in for Christmas presents, but it was never enough to have a _huge_ Christmas like a lot of people are used to. I left before anyone thought about getting their shit together. Doubt they did. Mom kinda sucked as a parent by herself, but at least she _tried_ to take care of us. Dad just drank."

Roman's heart broke at the story. He tried to take Dean's hand, but Dean pulled it away.

"Nah. I don't tell the story to get sympathy, Ro. I don't need it. I'm a lot better off here."

 _Was he_? With the Wyatt brothers targeting him, Dean wasn't exactly safe and sound here—but at least he had some idea of true family with him and Seth, not to mention Seth's welcoming folks.

"So, putting a shorter answer to your simple question," Dean said, pausing to sip his water. He'd claimed he wanted Roman to be on the clock, for Roman to take his order and prepare him salted caramel mocha personally. "You don't have to get me anything, 'cause I'm not _used_ to getting anything. But, I'm not gonna be that asshole that refuses gifts at Christmastime. If you really wanna get me something, it doesn't even have to be big. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll love it."

It _was_ going to be big, and Roman had decided for himself what he wanted to get for Dean, if Dean hadn't given him a different answer than what he had in mind.

"Want another muffin?" Roman asked as Dean licked away crumbs on his fingers.

"Nah, I'm alright. Thanks, though. I can't wait for my mocha."

Roman gathered up the trash and checked the time. Five minutes till one. "What are you gonna do while I'm working?"

"Hang out here. If that's alright."

"You might be bored. Our rush is due any minute. Post-church rush, plus the usual weekend crowd."

"Oh, I'll be fine. I've got some homework to catch up on, anyway."

Ah, that was right. Dean had brought the black books along. Roman had nearly forgotten about them. Roman hoped Dean's home hadn't suffered within Bray Wyatt's rage. Surely the man knew what Dean had done by now.

Roman swooped down to peck Dean's lips. "I've gotta get back there."

"Alright. I'll be up in a little while for my drink."

Roman wandered behind the counter and shuffled towards the back room. He tied an apron around his waist and pulled his hair into a ponytail. He greeted his boss Curtis and reminded his manager that he was working for Dolph today. Before stashing his phone away, he read over a text Dolph had sent him minutes ago.

 **Thanks again buddy. Appreciate it x**

Roman clocked in and took the register over from Jimmy. Dean was on his way up to the counter, but he was beat to the register by an older couple bundled in coats and colored gloves. Even as they stood in line, the man held his wife's hand. Roman hoped to have a standing love that grew as old as he did someday.

"What can I get started for you guys?" he asked.

The man squinted through his glasses at the menu. "Oh, I can hardly see anything that's up there…I'm sorry…"

"Oh, no, no worries," Roman said. At least he didn't blame whoever had written the menu up in "too small text." He'd gotten that complaint from an elderly chap before. Older people were either his best customers or the worst, depending on the day.

"What would you recommend, sonny?" the woman asked, baring a false set of teeth.

Before Roman could answer her, a voice piped up behind her. "Salted caramel mocha."

The woman turned to Dean, standing right behind her. "Sorry?"

"The salted caramel mocha," he repeated patiently. "It's my favorite drink, hands down. And this guy makes 'em best." He raised his hand towards Roman. He grinned, his cheeks burning.

"So I've heard," Roman said.

"I guess I can give it a try," the woman said. "I _do_ like caramel."

"You know what, make it two," the man ordered. "And an egg sandwich, and a Caribbean tuna salad."

"You got it," Roman said. Dean gave him a thumbs-up behind the couple.

The afternoon was typical for a Sunday. People came and went, the crowd swelled and died by late afternoon. Dean sat at his usual table by the window, indulging in his favorite drink and copying whatever privy information from Bray Wyatt's notebook into his own. At one point the elderly couple walked past his table and thanked him for the delicious drink recommendation. They returned to the counter to drop a few dollars in the tip jar. Roman thanked them for coming in.

It was busy enough to keep Roman behind the counter for the majority of his shift, yet slow in some areas where he didn't feel too overwhelmed. He couldn't wait to be off. Just an hour to go. He wondered what Dean would want to do tonight. Randy was home, so maybe Dean staying another night _wasn't_ the best idea…Randy might have been alright with their relationship—Roman's insides buzzed at the thought of being in a _relationship_ —but he didn't want to make Randy extremely uncomfortable too early on.

And Dean _would_ have to go home at some point…he couldn't evade his own apartment forever…

Maybe he could stay with Seth at Seth's parents' house tonight. Just another night in guaranteed safety.

A young, unaccompanied girl entered the coffeeshop. Roman didn't recognize her as a regular. She was tall, appearing even taller in her brown designer boots, gaunt in her green peacock coat. Her short black hair fell choppy over her hazel eyes.

"How are you today?" Roman greeted her.

"Oh, fine." Her voice was timid. "Could I please get a tall spiced pumpkin hot chocolate? To go."

"You've got it." Roman's eyes shifted up from his register. He was about to ask her if he could get her anything else when he noticed Dean ogling at him.

The color was gone from his face again.

His eyes were swelling out of their sockets.

Even from this distance Roman noticed the escalation of every breath.

"W-was there anything else I could get for you?" Roman asked at last. Fortunately the girl didn't seem to catch onto Dean's reaction to her, seemingly, or his reaction to _Dean's_ reaction. Did he know her? Was she an ex?

"That'll be all. Thank you."

Why was Dean so freaked?

"Can I get a name for the order?"

"Abigail."

That name rattled inside Roman's head like an unsettling memory.

Was this…surely…surely _not_ …

But another look at Dean told him the truth.

This must have been Bray Wyatt's sister Abigail.

When she handed a credit card over to Roman and he checked her ID, it was completely confirmed.

Abigail Wyatt.

 _Fuck_.

Dean had already quietly shifted into another chair so his back was to the register. Roman could see him hunched over the table, arms covering the books. Practically heard Dean praying Abigail wouldn't come to him.

Roman speared her signed receipt onto the spindle and got to work on her hot chocolate. He had to know what she was up to. "So, what brings you in today?"

"The cold," Abigail said, smiling. How did she look so much more innocent than her psycho brother?

"Don't think I've ever seen you in before. You live around here?"

"Mm, not really. I live a little further south of here. I'm in town today visiting some family."

Family.

The Wyatts.

To tell them about Dean?

Or did they already know?

Thank God this order was to go.

Roman finished up the drink and set it in her waiting gloved hand. "There you go, miss Abigail."

"Thank _you_ , Roman," she said, noting his name tag.

 _This thing's a real traitor_.

He wanted her the hell out now. Her motivations seemed to be pure, but Roman didn't want her spotting Dean and changing moods. "You have yourself a great day, ma'am."

"You too, thanks. Oh," she said before leaving, looking at him in the eyes. "One more thing. You can tell your dearest friend Dean Ambrose that it's alright for him to go home now."

Roman's neck broke out in a sweat. _Did she just say_ …

The smile alit on her face again, this time in a different denotation. "Wherever he hides away, my big brother _will_ find him and take care of him for what he did. If he chooses to involve others in his own plight, Bray isn't afraid to take care of them, too."

Roman's throat went dry. "I, uh—sorry? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

Roman licked his lips. He had nothing else to say. His mind was blank and white like a dry erase board, wiped clean of all contemplations.

"Goodbye, Roman."

Abigail spun around on her heel, drink in hand, and disappeared out the glass door, the golden bell tinkling, wishing her goodbye.

It took a moment for Roman to remember how to breathe.

Dean turned back around, hand over his mouth. He trotted to the counter, drained and defeated.

"Did you _hear_ that?" Roman asked.

"Unfortunately, yeah."

"How the hell did she know who I was? How'd she know I _work_ here?"

"I—I wish I knew, Ro." Dean moved his hands to his hair, tugging on the ends in a panic he struggled to contain. "Bray's the guy with connections, and I know he's low enough to follow up on every opportunity he gets…"

"Son of a bitch," Roman muttered. He pressed his palms flat against the counter and leaned forward, stretching his back which suddenly felt tense.

"I'm not letting them do anything to you, Ro."

" _I'm_ not letting them do anything to me. _Or_ you. _Or_ Seth. If they fucking try, then that's what they fucking asked for."

Dean set his hand on top of Roman's. It relaxed at once by the single touch.

"We'll be alright," Dean said, sounding more certain than he probably felt. So certain that Roman actually believed him.

But how long would it take before they would _know_?


	17. Chapter 17

"Post office is closed today, right?"

Dean glanced at Roman from the passenger's seat of the Civic. Roman gripped the steering wheel tight as he made a right turn. He was familiar with the area of Seth's parents' house, but he'd need Dean's guidance a little later on to remember the specifics of their destination. Seth was waiting for them there.

"Yeah," Roman answered.

Dean hit his knee. "Shoot. I finished this up, and I'm really itching to get this to Bray's place. Signed, sealed, delivered, baby."

Roman didn't say anything. He was strongly tempted to lick his lips, the way he usually would, feeling this anxious. But he'd misplaced his tube of chapstick, and he didn't want to risk his lips splitting open in the cold.

"You okay, Ro?"

"How'd she know?" Roman asked over a low-volume ad for a jewelry company on the radio. "How'd she know me? How'd she know I worked there?"

"Don't worry about Abigail, alright?"

"It's not her I'm worried about."

"I didn't think you were worried at all, Superman."

Roman cast out a breath. "I'm trying not to be. I'm not, really, it's just…you know. Anxiety at all. Always makes good situations bad and bad situations worse."

"I guess I can't really relate. I'm kind of a thrill-seeker."

"I know you are."

Dean ran a hand up Roman's leg. The gesture made his skin tingle. "Roman Reigns, you're brave. You stick around me, there's your proof. You flat-out said if the Wyatts try anything, that's what they asked for. So tell that uneasy mind of yours to fuck off." He raised a pointed finger and tapped the side of Roman's head. "Bray Wyatt gettin' in here a little bit? Making you a little upset? Making you a little angry? That's good! I like my Roman Reigns angry. I like my Roman Reigns upset. Don't succumb to the fear— _embrace_ it. Swap it out for some rage, a short temper. Don't let him get to you the way he wants to get to you. Show him what it means to tug on Superman's cape. Show him what a mistake it is."

"And that's how you deal with it?" Roman asked, caving to Dean's overconfidence. "You choose not to be afraid of him—you just stay pissed off?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Everyone's afraid of something."

"Clearly you haven't visited the insane asylum known as my mind."

Dean was afraid of plenty. Roman had seen the color drain from his face when he received the message that Seth was in the emergency room. He chose to outright deny it, defy its existence through a riot of his psyche. Telling Roman to turn his fear into a fight was just a small glimpse at how Dean subsisted with the emotion he called "useless" and "wasted."

Dean had a weakness outside sugar. It was emotions in general.

Emotions such as fear, and love.

Was Roman somehow causing Dean to stumble in his fortitude simply by _being_ there? Unwillingly offering another piece of leverage for the Wyatts to use against him?

Roman wasn't going to let the Wyatts near him. Or Dean.

Or anyone.

"Where do I go from here?" Roman asked at the intersection just outside the Rockrimmon neighborhood.

"Straight through this light. Left at the stop sign. Will you go with me to the post office tomorrow?"

Roman obeyed his directions. "Sure."

"And…maybe Walmart so I can get a new phone?" Dean asked, grimacing as though it was the most ludicrous request in the world.

"Of course. I'll go anywhere with you. It's just gotta be after my class."

Dean smiled. "I can wait. I'm not looking for a fancy-shmancy Android like you have. Just a cheap little thing I'll probably throw away within the next couple of months. I hate being without a phone, though. Not being able to get into contact with Seth."

"I can understand that. He's your best friend."

"Right turn here."

Roman recognized the area. On Thanksgiving he'd felt underdressed here; now in his work attire he felt even shabbier. On any other day, the concern would be major. His circumstances allowed him to care a little less about his physical appearance.

Seth opened the door for him, as though he'd been waiting by the door and watched them arrive through the window. "Hey," he said. His face looked a lot better. Like there'd never been an attack at all.

"Hey," Dean said, patting Seth on the shoulder.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean scuttled into the house and down the corridor to say hello to Seth's parents. Roman lingered behind just inside the front door with Seth.

"Thanks for bringing him here," Seth said. "Being without him for a night ain't easy. As sorry as that sounds."

"Hey, it's no problem. The way you say it makes it sound like we're a divorced couple in a custody battle over our son Dean."

Seth snickered. "You stickin' around?"

"Yeah, maybe, for a little while. But I think I'll sleep at my place tonight. I want to be there with my roommate."

"Oh?"

Roman pursed his lips, lowered his voice even though they were the only two around. "I had a run-in today with Abigail."

Seth's jaw unlatched. "Wyatt's sister Abigail?"

"Wyatt's sister Abigail."

Seth ran a hand over his mouth. "Did she know—"

"Well, she knew my name, thanks to this." He jammed a finger against his name tag, which he realized at that moment he'd accidentally worn home instead of stashing it in his cubby back at work. "But no, she already knew much more. She called Dean out, right in my face. Said Bray's gonna find Dean wherever he is and take down anyone who's with him. Anyone who's in contact with Dean is in as much trouble as he is."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?" Seth asked, touching Roman's arm.

"Could be better." Roman smiled grimly. "Could be worse, too."

Dean appeared at the end of the corridor like a ghost. "Seth, mind if I hop in the shower? I feel like a wolverine over here."

Roman had to bite back his request to join Dean in the shower. Another time. Not with Seth and his family here.

"A wolverine?" Seth asked.

"You know. They smell."

"Why not a skunk?" Roman queried.

"Why not _neither_?"

"Yeah, go ahead, Dean," Seth said. "Roman and I'll just hang out in my room or something."

"I'll be quick," he promised, darting upstairs.

To get to Seth's bedroom, they had to pass through the living room. Stephanie greeted him from the couch, glass of wine in hand.

"Hey there, Roman. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, ma'am." _Liar_. But how could she know the truth? If she didn't already? "I hope you're well."

"I am. Thank you."

Roman chuckled at the condition of Seth's basement bedroom. He apparently hadn't taken much with him when he left home to live on his own. The room was fully stocked, that of a teenage boy's, albeit very organized: a Chicago Bears poster above his bed; a tidy desk holding a laptop and books that looked like the complete required reading list of a high school class; photo frames with pictures of the family; a calendar tacked to the wall, stuck in time on December of 2013; an empty snake cage.

Seth sat on the edge of his made bed. "Welcome."

"It's nice," Roman said. "Much bigger than mine."

"Is anything in this house smaller than anything you own?" Seth ribbed. "Nah, Dad makes good money. We're very fortunate."

Roman sat in the spinning chair at Seth's desk.

Seth shoved his hair from his face. "Listen, Ro, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry you're involved in this mess with the Wyatts. This ain't anyone's idea of a perfect situation."

"Except a sadist, maybe."

"Maybe. But you're a decent guy. You've got the good life going. Dean loves you, I…well, I guess I sorta do, too, but maybe not in the same way Dean does?"

Roman smiled. This time the act was genuine. Seth was getting flustered.

"The point is, you mean a lot to me now, too. I attach myself to people, and I care about them whether or not they feel the same way. It's a pain in the ass."

"Well, your attachment isn't unreciprocated. I feel for ya, brother." Roman leaned forward to pat Seth's shoulder, finding the muscle to be extremely taut. "You've been through a lot. And you deserve someone to look after you for once, after everything you've done for Dean."

"I guess."

"You _do_." Roman pinched the stiff muscle. "Trust me."

Seth half-smiled.

Roman noted a picture frame on the desk with two young boys posing with funny faces and Mickey Mouse hats. "This you and your brother?"

"Yeah. First trip to Disney Land. We made it out there a few times when I was a kid."

"You guys pretty close?"

Seth's hands were playful in his lap, clasping and unclasping one another, eyes fallen. "We were. Till we grew up. It's weird. Usually kids fight every second of every day when they're younger, then grow up to appreciate that sibling bond. Us, nah. We got along okay as kids. Then got older and found we wanted different things."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. I still see him, from time to time. But he's got his own life to live. And I've got mine." He lifted his gaze. "But we're not in here to be all sappy, huh?"

"Nah, we're just in here to protect our asses from those damn Wyatt brothers."

" _I_ think we're here so I can kick your ass at _Metal Wars_."

"What's _Metal Wars_?"

Seth gasped. "Bro. You've _never_ played _Metal Wars_?"

"Of course I have. I was just testing you."

Seth threw his head back. "Roman, my man, you're missing _out_! It's the best game of the year, hands down. The plot is, the president stopped using human soldiers to fight all our wars, and started establishing these super robots for the military."

"And let me guess, the robots end up turning on the humans, right?"

"Nope," Seth contended. " _You_ as the player are the super robot soldier. You're invading other countries, protecting your own, knocking everything over. It's a good time for everyone. And there's something about a love story, the main character falling for the daughter of his chief, but we don't play the game for the love story. We play the game to blow shit up."

"Well, let's do it then."

Seth started up the game and entered a particular mode where players could go head-to-head on either the side of the battle: in favor of the robot soldiers or the humans. Seth allowed Roman to play as the robot soldier first. He bragged about how good he was, no matter what side he played on.

A fact that was quickly objectified when Roman caught onto the gameplay quicker than expected and only lost the first round by a couple of kills.

"You're catching on," Seth praised.

As he started up another round, Dean came into the room, hair dripping and clothes partially sticking to areas on his body where he forgot to dry himself. "Whoa," he said, eyes fixed to the screen, "why is this here and not at our place?"

"Thank God it wasn't at our place. Bray might have taken it," Seth said.

"I doubt he's too interested in Xbox games."

"Dang it!" Seth cried, nearly dropping his controller as his character fell dead. "Stupid bots shooting me with a rocket launcher from two feet away. Who _does_ that?"

"Looks like the bots are on recruit rank, Seth. They're not cheating, you just suck."

"Fuck off, Ambrose."

"I want in on the next round." Dean dropped onto the floor in front of Roman, hugging his knees.

Roman lost again—this time, however, by even fewer kills than the round before.

"I'm catching up," Roman said. "Be ready, Seth. Might take away your championship reign here pretty soon."

"Bring it on."

Dean joined in the game and started off as a robot soldier. Seth clicked his tongue.

"We have a Judas in our midst," he said.

"Where are you?" Dean sang.

"Right here! You're dead, sucker," Seth hissed at the screen. "Not so badass against a flamethrower, are you?"

"Take this grenade and shove it," Dean replied.

"Ha, missed. Told you your aim sucks."

"It's alright, I got your back," Roman said to Dean, shooting Seth's soldier in the head. He stared at Roman incredulously.

"The hell was that? I thought we were tight, man."

"Something, something, love and war."

Suddenly the last of Seth's comrades was dropped by a faraway enemy. A sniper Dean had planted in a tree high above him. The screen declared victory for the robots, and Dean howled, "That's how you do it!" He and Roman high-fived.

"Whatever," Seth said. "You're such a cheater. You just hide out and snipe people."

"Yeah? So?"

"Why don't you come down and fight like a man?" he challenged.

"Bring it on. I can play with just a handgun and throwing knife, and still kick your butt."

The next round was interrupted when Stephanie texted Seth, informing him Thanksgiving leftovers were available for dinner tonight.

Roman realized, as much as he wanted to stay, he needed to get home to Randy. He had homework to do; not to mention he wasn't sure if Randy was all that safe with a potential member of the Wyatt family following Roman now. If they knew where he worked, what other sort of classified information did they have on him?

Seth deserved an evening with Dean, anyway. Roman _had_ been hogging him a bit lately.

"Sure you don't wanna stay?" Seth asked upstairs.

Roman pulled his coat on. "Yeah, like I said, I've got homework and shit to do. Plus, I think my roommate might think me and Dean eloped to Vegas if I don't come home early enough."

"He can get over it if we did," Dean teased. He enfolded Roman's hand in his own and took his lips against his own. The kiss was sweet and ardent and Roman wished it could last all night long.

Roman caught Seth glancing behind as his eyes opened.

He gave both of them a hug and promised to see them in the morning. Dean had some errands to run.

* * *

" _A college student believes that (s)he is depressed. Reported symptoms include lethargy (e.g., stays in bed most of the day, misses classes, doesn't study), stagnation (e.g., believes that life is going no where, what's the point of trying), and poor nutrition (e.g., eats little, mostly junk food). Given this information, offer a therapeutic plan from any TWO of the following: behaviorism, psychoanalysis, humanistic psychology. For each approach, indicate (a) how you would determine the cause of the "depression", and (b) offer two "help" suggestions (i.e., advice, therapy, plan of action)_."

"Just fall in love," Roman said to the imaginary college student in his essay question. "That's what got me to feel a lot happier."

" _Dammit_!" came an exclaim from outside the room.

Roman pushed away from his desk and jogged out to the kitchen. "You alright?"

Randy stood over a smoking stovetop. He reached to turn the front burner off, covering his mouth with his arm. "Yeah," he said through a cough. "Was trying to make vegetable stir-fry with rice for dinner. Think I set the temperature too high or something."

"You're trying to _cook_?" Roman was genuinely surprised—and impressed by the spontaneous effort.

"Yeah. Figured we can't live off ramen and bowls of cereal forever. We have to survive like men with real food!" He fanned his mighty have over the smoldering pan. It did little to rub out his mistake. All that remained was a sticky blob of blackened rice and shriveled vegetables. He made a face.

"Want me to help?"

"Nah, you've got your essay thingee. Don't worry. I can maintain." Randy brought the pan across the kitchen and dropped it into the sink with a loud clank.

"I appreciate it and all, but you wanna just order a pizza before you burn the whole place down?"

"Sure," Randy said, dropping the pan. "Sounds good. Last time I ever try to play housewife for you, Ro."

Roman chuckled.

He was surprised when there was a knock at the door just ten minutes later. The ad for the neighborhood pizzeria boasted about fast deliveries, but they'd never arrived _this_ soon before. Randy opened the door, cash in hand.

From the living room, Roman didn't hear voices.

"Everything okay?" Roman called.

"There's nobody here."

"What?" Roman rose from the couch.

"Wait. There's an envelope."

Roman's chest tightened.

"Says your name on it, Roman."

His throat dried.

Randy closed the door behind him, upholding a thick paper envelope. "Secret admirer? Don't tell Dean," he teased, but Roman was not in the mood to joke around. He unwillingly took the envelope from Randy and tore it open.

There were photographs inside.

Photographs of _him._

This one of Roman perusing the streets of downtown; that one of Roman leaving work one night, based on the darkness of the picture; another of Roman leaving his apartment.

In every single one, his face was slashed through with a red marker.

The rest of the pictures were of his apartment, his car, a couple of Dean and Seth. Seth's face was slashed out as well; Dean's, encircled. Only one picture of the apartment contained another figure. Randy. Meaning this one was the most recent, since he'd been gone for many days.

"Roman, what the fuck is that?" Randy asked.

Roman couldn't answer. He felt his vision fading, his hands shake, as he took in with severe alarm a picture of Seth's parents' house.

In the same red marker used to dash through the faces of Roman and Seth and encircle the face of Dean, the perpetrator had written one word that made his flesh crawl.

"RUN."


	18. Chapter 18

"Roman, what the hell is going on?"

Roman was striving to pull his boots on over his feet. Why were the easiest tasks so onerous to perform when one was in a hurry? "You know that guy I'm seeing? Dean?"

"Yeah?" Randy folded his arms over his chest, impatient for Roman's explanation of the pictures.

"Well, he's in a little trouble with a gang."

"He's a _gang_ member?"

"No. Well, kind of. Used to be. But he left them, and now they're after him." _And anyone who's associated with him_.

"I'd call you batshit crazy, but these pictures are pretty friggin' unnerving," Randy said, going through the photographs once more while Roman yanked his keys off the hook by the door.

"Dean doesn't have a phone, and his roommate's got stolen by the gang. So there's no way for me to contact 'em, warn 'em about this. I have to drive over there and tell 'em myself. Make sure they're alright."

"Wait. What do _you_ have to do with this? I mean, I know he's your boy and all, but—"

Roman contended with his coat. Even the act of getting dressed proved to be difficult. "They're trying to get to him by targeting anyone who knows him. Including me."

"Holy shit, Roman, I can't believe this."

"Randy, I know this is coming at you really fast, but I kind of want you to go with me to Dean and Seth." He figured Randy could determine for himself who Seth was.

"Wh—what? Because—"

"Because our apartment is in these pictures, Randy. They know where I live. They could swing by again looking for me. I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire. Just come with me so you can be safe. I need to protect you too now."

Randy sighed, shaking his head. "This is nuts."

"I know. And I'm sorry about it."

Fortunately his roommate wasn't stupid enough to argue. "Alright, fine. If he's in trouble, we need to get to him. Shouldn't we call the police?"

"No time. Plus Dean is kind of anti-cop. They've never been able to help him before."

"That doesn't mean—"

But Roman was out the front door, locking it behind them. Common sense evaded him. Logic was a stranger. All he could think about was getting to Dean and Seth before the Wyatts had a chance.

Randy crawled into the passenger's seat, and Roman roared his car to life.

He dropped his phone into the cup holder. It didn't take long for the device to ignite with activity.

"Want me to get that?" Randy offered. Roman nodded. He gripped the steering wheel tight. Talking on the phone, texting while driving, was something even in this uneasy state of mind he knew was a terrible idea.

"It's a call from…Seth," Randy read from the screen.

"Don't answer it," Roman instructed. "It's them."

"Right. So who are these guys, anyway? Didn't know the Springs had a major gang problem."

"I didn't, either. I'm not even sure how big the Wyatt 'family' is. But whatever the size, they are vicious motherfuckers."

"Yeah, they're not just the shoot-now-no-questions-asked type, are they?"

"They're crafty."

The phone stopped buzzing. Moments later there came another buzz, once, short. "Voicemail," Randy said.

"Leave it for now," Roman asked of him.

"You really think they'll try to break into our place? Attack us, attack you?"

It was a frightfully accurate statement of fact. "Yeah. That sounds like something they'd do."

 _Bzzz_. "Text," Randy said, Roman's phone still in hand. "Same number."

"Guess you can read it," Roman said, his morbid curiosity winning him over.

"'Dean is not worth it'."

Roman's arms shook. "That's Bray Wyatt for ya."

"Roman, what are we gonna do? If it's not even safe to be in our apartment…"

"I'll figure something out, Randy. I promise. I've been playing hero a lot lately, and you're not out of my range of protection."

"That's sweet, Roman, but I still don't feel a hundred percent better."

"You're taking it calmer than I expected," Roman noted.

"It's the shock. Once it wears off, I might react a little more realistically."

 _Bzzz_. "Another text."

"Read it. Please."

"'I'll leave you alone if you leave him alone'."

Roman struck the top of the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Fuck him. Fuck him."

"Roman, if this Bray Wyatt guy is dangerous—if Dean's in some deep shit—maybe for your own good, you should—"

"I'm going to look after him, that's what I'm going to do."

"I know you care about the guy. I know you do. Can't remember the last time I saw you smile that wide with someone else responsible. But you need to think of yourself too, Ro. I say this as a friend, and from one human being to another. Protect yourself."

"It's too late," Roman grumbled. "I'm in it, and I'm in deep."

"In trouble?"

 _And love_.

 _Bzzz_. "'Does his life mean more to you than your own?' See, he and I are on the same page, except he sounds like a sick fuck and—"

 _Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz_.

"Another call," Randy said.

"Give it to me," Roman snarled.

Randy surrendered the phone, and Roman barked into the receiver, "You wanna fight, asshole? Meet up with me somewhere and we'll have it out right there, just you and me."

Bray Wyatt's satanic laugh came through the phone, audible enough for Randy to hear—and shudder at. "Roman, Roman, Roman, I'm not looking for a fight. I never was. All I want is Ambrose. Then the fear, the pain, the frustration—all of that'll be over for you."

"What is your obsession with Dean?"

"What is _yours_?" Bray sounded amused.

"At least I'm not up his ass all the time. Threatening him, going after the people he cares about. I'm with him because I care. You're all over him just to make him suffer."

"Uh-uh. No, Roman, you've got it all wrong. Dean needs to understand that family don't just quit on each other."

"He's not your fucking family."

"Do you know the beauty of Dean hardly having anyone in the world? It makes it _that_ much easier to take away everything he loves. Now ask yourself, Roman: is it worth it? Is it really worth throwing away your entire existence over _one_ reckless little man?"

"Where are you. I'll meet you myself and fucking end you."

"You can try. But my family is stronger than you. _I_ am stronger than you. I passed this off as a warning, and that voice message I left on your phone? That's a warning for Dean. I consider myself a patient man, but it's wearing thin for someone as rash and unpredictable and _selfish_ as our Dean Ambrose. His time is running out. Yours can still be redeemed. You can still have a wonderful life, graduate from school, get married, have little Roman and Romana Reigns running around your house in the suburbs. Being with Dean won't get you any further than tomorrow morning."

 _Dud he just use my last name_? "Where. Are. You."

Bray Wyatt just laughed.

The call ended.

Roman dropped the phone into the cup holder again.

"Jesus," Randy said, looking pale. Surely he'd heard a good deal of ghastly that verbal exchange. "This guy really has it out for Dean. _And_ you."

Roman licked his lips. _Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit all. Dammit all_!

He was guided by his own memory to Seth's parents' house. No police cars or broken glass. Seth's car was still parked across the street. That was a good sign. Roman grabbed the envelope and informed Randy he didn't have to come inside, but to stay on alert for any vehicles around that looked suspicious. Randy agreed.

Roman bolted up the driveway and slammed his finger against the doorbell twice. A twinge of pain shot through his hand. Cold night air nipped at his exposed skin.

Hunter answered the door several too-long moments later.

"Oh, hi, Roman," he said. "We thought you'd gone off for the night."

"May I come in?"

"Of course."

Roman stripped of his damp boots, abandoning them by the front door. He didn't bother wondering if Hunter questioned why he was in such a hurry. He cut through the living room, giving Kane and Stephanie a wave on his way, and scurried down the staircase.

Seth's door was closed. He didn't want to frighten them with a surprise entrance, so he knocked, then shoved the door open.

"Hey, you're back!" Dean called. He and Seth were together on the bed, laying close enough to invoke a bit of jealousy in Roman if the circumstances were any different. Seth paused some action movie on the TV. Dean rolled out of the bed.

Seth was the first to detect his panic. "What's wrong?"

"Wyatts."

"Fucking, what did they do now?"

Roman held up the envelope and extracted the photographs. "Take a look."

He handed them off to Dean first. Dean went pale as Randy had, as Roman _felt_ , looking over each one. He choked on nothing, coming across the final picture: the image of the house they were in now.

"Holy shit," Dean said. "Holy _shit_."

"What?" Seth demanded.

Dean allowed him to view the pictures next. "They _were_ following us. All three of us. Now Roman's in the club."

"Can I cancel my membership?" Roman joked without laughing. "Then on my way here, I started getting calls and texts from Seth's phone."

"Bray?"

Seth thumbed through the pictures slowly, incredulous about the existence of each one.

"He said he left a voicemail, and it was a message for you."

"What did it say?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. I didn't listen to it."

Dean held his hand out, wanting the phone. Wanting to hear the message.

"You sure?" Roman asked.

"I have to know."

Roman freed his phone from his pocket and slowly handed it over to Dean. He managed to get to Roman's voicemail on his own, and he put the message on speaker for Seth and Roman to hear.

"Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean," came that voice. "You are perhaps the most selfish person I've ever met, you know that? Surely you do. Come on. It's apparent you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself. You are putting entire families at risk, doing what you're doing. So many folks have their necks stuck out for you, and maybe they don't even realize it. Tell me, when was the last time you told the truth to anyone? You're convicted of high treason, boy, and one way or another, you'll pay the penalty. Why do you continue to let others suffer for you? Seth. Roman. Seth's parents, that brother of his. If you want it to carry on, so be it. Our war is coming. The apocalypse is upon you. Dean Ambrose, you know deep down you're a Wyatt. You fit in well with us here. You manipulate people. You lie. You're egotistical. You're not all there in the head, and that's just what we look for in our family members. You'll always be one of us, Ambrose, whether you're at home or with your fellow fags. It's okay. We're very forgiving. But we're also ruthless. I'm not afraid to chase you around the world. If you don't choose to come home, I'll bring you home."

The laugh.

And the message ended.

It was quiet in Seth's room. Nothing but whipping winds outside.

Dean turned, phone still in hand, and grabbed something off Seth's desk. It was his black book, Roman realized.

"What are you doing?" Roman asked.

"I thought of something while he was rambling on."

"You're not calling him up, are you?" Seth queried, concerned.

"No, silly goose. I can't go after him. And neither of _you_ can go after him. I have no other choice but this one right now."

Seth and Roman exchanged perplexed glances. A common facial manner whenever Dean was up to something.

Dean flipped to a page, his eyes scanning each line for something specific. His finger hit one line when he'd found it at last. He punched something into Roman's phone and whispered, "Don't worry. Blocking the call so you can't be traced."

Roman arched an eyebrow.

Dean cleared his throat and spoke in a husky voice, "Hey, Ace, this is Bray Wyatt, how are ya? Oh, fine, thanks. Listen—no, no, I'm not looking to buy tonight. Listen. I have to tell you something. I, uh…had a moment of clarity today. An epiphany, if you will. I realized I've been going on in this life in all the wrong ways. I wasn't put on this earth to be a fat, stupid drug dealer. I was put on this earth to be a fat, stupid…saint." He had to pause, cover his mouth to stifle laughter, then cleared his throat again. "I've given my life over to Jesus Christ. I want to make a change. I _have_ to make a change. So tonight, for the very first time, I'm going to confession. Make that _two_ confessions. One to a priest, and one to the cops. I'm sorry, buddy, we've had a fun run together, but it's time I clean up my act. I'm going to the cops and telling them about our entire operation. If I have to give them the names of every guy I've come into contact with, yours included, so be it. It's all part of the _complete_ cleansing of the soul. I hope you'll forgive me, as God has forgiven me, and I've forgiven myself. And I pray someday you'll see the light, too."

He hung up before Ace made any sort of response.

Then bursted into insane, maniacal laughter.

"Oh man, I'm a fucking _genius_!" he howled.

"What the hell was that?" Seth asked.

"Don't you know anything about the streets, Seth? Snitches get stitches."

Dean made several more calls, each mimicking the last. He told five or six of Bray Wyatt's clients that Bray planned to turn each of them into the police. He grinned as he ended the last call over a screaming voice.

"You don't fuck with my family, Wyatt," Dean said, pulling the bedroom door open and storming across the basement. "You don't _fuck_ with my family!" He spun around and stared Seth and Roman down, his tongue sliding between his teeth. "He's got bigger problems now besides me. Bray Wyatt ain't gonna live much longer with all these gang-bangers after him before he 'goes to the police.' It's over. It _has_ to be over."

Dean seemed so damn proud of himself, but Seth and Roman stared at one another. They knew as well as anyone—anyone besides Dean—that this was far from over.


	19. Chapter 19

**I can't thank you guys enough for your kind words and encouraging reviews. It's messages like that that give me the strength to keep going even when I don't feel like writing! You are all so AWESOME! I wish I could make cookies and salted caramel mochas for each one of you~**

 **That said! Here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. :)**

* * *

Depression. The last unit of his History of Psychology course. Cold irony.

Roman felt numb.

"Hippocrates, a Greek physician, suggested that personality traits and mental illnesses were related to balanced or imbalanced body fluids called _humours_ ," Doctor Crane said, switching to the next slide on his powerpoint presentation lecture. "There were allegedly four 'humours': yellow bile, black bile, phlegm and blood. Hippocrates classified mental illnesses into categories that included mania, melancholia—depression, and phrenitis—brain fever."

Roman wasn't paying attention. His eyes saw the bold letters and his hand took notes on the oration, but his mind was far from psychology.

Randy was leaving.

He'd made the announcement last night shortly after Roman brought Dean and Seth out of his parents' house. The excuse he fished out was an itch to go back to Zodiac. Half-off drinks after six on Sundays, after all. In truth he wanted them out of that house for the time being. They were safe with him.

So he thought. So he wanted to believe.

"Seth, Randy," Roman said in the car. "Randy, Seth."

Randy shook Seth's hand. "Hi, Seth."

"Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

"Me too." Randy's eyes went to Dean. He pitied Dean. That was apparent. "Hey again, Dean."

"Hi, Randy."

"Where the hell do we go?" Roman asked, turning the engine over. "Where the hell is even _safe_ for us anymore?"

"Well, we don't have to stay there, but I'd really like to go by your place anyway," Dean said. "Kinda miss my guitar."

"And then what?" Roman asked. "Stay there and just wait for the Wyatts to maybe break in and maybe not?"

"You got a gun? If they break in, we blow 'em away. Simple as that. 'Say Hello To My Little Friend' law."

"'Make My Day' law," Seth corrected.

"Whatever."

"Yeah, guess that's the only choice we really have," Roman said.

"Don't worry about them trying anything tonight, Ro." Dean poked his shoulder from the back seat. "There won't be _any_ delay in what those guys'll do to Bray Wyatt after what I said."

Roman wanted to believe him. But nerves were winning him over.

"We don't even have to go back to your place," Dean went on. "You can stay here with us. I'm sure Mama Steph won't mind."

"I'm not going to intrude. And I don't want her questioning anything."

"It's not an intrusion." Dean turned to Seth. "Right? Your mom would let him stay over."

"Well, she wouldn't say no…" Seth said, sounding like he had a counter to that, but he didn't give it vocal life.

"I'd feel a lot better at my place," Roman argued. "If the Wyatts _do_ follow us anywhere tonight, I'd rather them follow us back to my place. That way nobody in your family is at risk, Seth."

"I can second that."

"Um, if it's alright to interrupt, Roman?" Randy interjected. "If we're heading back to the apartment, I'm gonna pack a bag and head over to my sister's for the night. Whatever this trouble is you're in, I really don't want any part of it."

"I understand," Roman said. "Where does your sister live?"

"Out in Falcon."

That was quite the distance from their apartment. He'd be safe there. Roman felt awful for his forced attachment to his predicament. "Okay. Want me to drive you? Make sure you get there alright?"

"I can drive myself. Thanks."

Roman understood that, too. He couldn't run the risk of Bray Wyatt following them all the way out to Falcon, either. His efforts, though heartfelt, would be for nothing.

So he'd brought them all back to Roman and Randy's apartment. Randy wasted no time in packing an overnight bag, including his school bag and necessary textbooks so he wouldn't need a reason to come back to this place in the morning. Dean tried to apologize to Randy, but Randy either pretended he couldn't hear Dean or suddenly was completely deaf. Randy said he'd "catch Roman later" and wished him luck against the "crazies."

The night hadn't been comforting. Dean played a little guitar, Seth and Roman tried putting on a movie that nobody paid attention to. Seth shot a message to his parents late, saying he was crashing at Roman's after having one too many at Zodiac, like a child who needed to check in with his folks before they went into panic mode and called the police.

Sleep came much too late and in very short supply.

Roman was groggy in the morning. He woke with Dean in his arms, and the fact only helped him feel a bit better. He dressed for school and left Dean sleeping in his bed, finding Seth awake on the couch under the comforter Roman had provided for him.

"Sleep okay?" Roman tried.

Seth cocked his head. "Could have been worse. Could have pulled an all-nighter."

"You work today?"

"Yeah, but not till eleven. When are you free again?"

"Three. It's my long day at school."

"So Dean's going to be alone for four hours?"

Roman bit his lip. "Yeah. Seems to be the case. But I know him well enough by now he's _probably_ not going to do anything _too_ stupid."

"Like swing by downtown and see if Bray Wyatt was gunned down last night?"

"Like that."

Seth pushed himself from the couch. "He won't. You're right. I know him, too. Better than anyone."

"Hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Think I might have some pop-tarts leftover…" Roman stalked into the kitchen to confirm this guess. Seth followed him.

Roman's phone buzzed in his pocket. He read over a text from Randy.

 **Hey Roman. Hope ur still alive. Listen, I'm gonna have to move out of the place for a while if u don't think it's safe. It's nothing against u. If ur all about protecting me, then I hope u know how right this is. I can provide my share of rent for this month. If u can't find a replacement for me by next month, let me know and I'll give u more money. I'm sorry. I hope everything works out and ur boy makes it out ok. Maybe once this is all over, we can b roommates again. I did enjoy living with u. Ur a pretty cool guy. But for now I think it's best for me to leave.**

Roman felt himself tearing up. The initial pain was nothing compared to what he knew he'd be feeling for certain later on, once the reality of the situation fully nestled into his already screwy brain. He touched a finger to his eye.

"You alright?" Seth asked, touching his shoulder.

"Randy's moving out," Roman said.

"Oh." Seth pursed his lips. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. Guess I have to find a replacement. Can't afford this place on my paycheck alone."

"We'll get something worked out, alright?"

"This is such bullshit," Roman said, tugging the pantry door open. "I just can't believe it. When did life decide to get so fucking convoluted?"

"The minute Dean walked into it?"

"No, I wouldn't put it like that." Roman realized there was only one pop-tart left in the box. He chucked the empty box towards the trash can, handing the wrapped toaster pastry to Seth. He wasn't too hungry, anyway.

"It's true though, right? I mean, no offense, Dean is my everything, but that's the honest-to-God answer to your question."

Roman realized with daggers in his heart that Seth was right.

"But at the same time, it got so much better," Roman said. "Seth, I fell for Dean big time. I love him to the end. I didn't realize it was possible to be _this_ happy. For me to feel this way about anyone…and for them to feel the same way about me."

"Exactly." Seth offered an assured smile. "You have to take the good with the bad. He's worth it."

"He is. That doesn't mean the parts that suck don't really, _truly_ suck, though."

Roman glanced up and saw Dean standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

"Hey, good morning," Roman said.

"Morning." Dean looked even more faint than Roman felt. He staggered towards the kitchen like a drunkard. "Roman, listen. I'm sorry I'm ruining your life."

Roman was incredulous. "Dean, you're not—"

"Yes, I am, Roman. By being with you, I've driven out your roommate, made your apartment a future crime scene, put your entire existence in jeopardy. I shouldn't have stuck around as long as I did. I should have just left you alone."

"Dean, stop," Roman commanded.

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about?" Seth asked.

"You said it yourself, Seth!" Dean exclaimed. "Roman's life got worse when I walked in. I got him roped into this mess with the Wyatts. Bray was right. I was selfish. I gave into my feelings for you, Ro. I wanted you all to myself. Even if it meant sacrificing your safety."

"Okay, Dean, I love you and all," Seth said, "but don't ever say those words again. Bray Wyatt is a _monster_. You're not a manipulator—he's trying to manipulate _you_. He's trying to guilt you into coming back to his stupid gang by making you feel responsible for our well-beings."

"I _do_ feel responsible for your well-beings."

"You're not telling Bray Wyatt to target us, Dean. You're not saying, 'Hey, you want me back? Here's how to get under my skin—two people who mean the absolute world to me. Go after them!' Bray Wyatt has been using psychological warfare on you. That's on him, not you. You're not forcing him to do anything. He's the sadistic bastard choosing to aim at us, because he knows what your weakness is."

"And _knowing_ that he knows what my weakness is, isn't it selfish of me to continue hanging around you guys?"

"Of course not," Roman said. "Seth is right. He knows what would hurt the most, and he's taking full advantage. Even if he didn't have this against you, he'd strive for something else. He's the type not to give up over anything. He's the obnoxious relentless type."

"Yeah, so don't you dare buy into his game or feel guilty over anything. We're not here to serve as leverage. We're here to help you."

"I just wish I could do the same," Dean said. "You guys have done so much for me…I just…I owe the both of you so much, and…" He was trembling like a leaf caught in a violent wind. Seth and Roman both moved to hug him. Together they sandwiched him in a double embrace. Dean wrapped one arm over Roman's shoulder, and stuck one behind him to awkwardly hug Seth around the waist.

"We're going to make it out of this," Roman said. "One way or another. Okay? He's not the type to give up, and neither am I."

"Sounds like you gave up in your plan?" Seth asked.

"No. Not quite. I still believe in it. But I've been let down by my own actions before. Right now all I can do is wait and see what becomes of what I've done."

Reality was a bitch. A cold, unwelcome guest who settled in whenever she felt like it, more often than not at the inconvenience of her host. But Roman also had a good sense of reality, a brightness, a warm side of her. The side with Dean. His Dean Ambrose, the only one who made him feel so strong and so weak all at once. A deranged yet loving, faithful individual who wanted nothing more in the world than to be happy.

He deserved it.

Roman's professor announced that their essays would be due the following Wednesday. Roman's thoughts scattered like a thinning cloud. As better as Dean and Seth had made him feel earlier, he was still going to miss Randy like hell. He should have been used to it by now. Everyone he ever grew to care about left eventually.

He only hoped the single exception in his life would be Dean.

It would hurt worse than death to lose Dean.

Yet on a level he could feel himself bracing for it someday. Like it was inevitable.

He packed up his bag and shoved out of the classroom among his fellow peers. English was next—Literature of the 19th Century—but he really, truly didn't feel like going. He would have much rather been at home.

He wondered what Dean was up to, all alone this afternoon at Roman's apartment.

But Roman couldn't bring himself to skip class even over damn good reasoning. Not this close to the end of the semester, to finals. So he sucked in a breath and forced himself to endure another lecture, this one on specific themes in Fyodor Dostoevsky's _Crime and Punishment_. It was dreadfully boring and Roman found himself daydreaming through most of the lesson.

Most of his daydreams involved Dean in suggestive poses and little to no clothing.

Roman rolled out of class and found a picture message waiting for him in his phone. He didn't recognize the number, but he pulled up the picture to get a closer look at its contents.

It was a screenshot of a news article from this morning.

"One dead, two arrested in shooting investigation" was the title. The first paragraph talked about a possibly gang-related shooting downtown the night before. One gunshot victim had died at the scene; another was rushed to the hospital and expected to recover.

No names had been released.

The text following the picture was a bit of a relief. **It's Seth btw. Using a buddy's phone at work. Saw this on the news and thought you might appreciate it. Dunno if it's our guy but let's hope.**

Roman did hope. He hoped with every conscious thought that Bray Wyatt was involved. If they were lucky—if, perhaps the greatest _if_ in existence—Bray was the one who'd died at the scene. But that creep finally locked up would be comforting enough.

He decided to head straight home after class. He couldn't even feel alright with going to the comic book store, in fear of Bray Wyatt—if he was still alive and/or free to wander the streets—following him there and targeting Cody and Neville. Once the names of the victims and suspects were released, he could rest a bit easier.

Roman tried not to speed home. He hoped Dean hadn't left. He knew of Dean's tendency to not listen.

But Dean was there when Roman unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment. He was surprised to find the place even tidier than usual. There were no dishes in the sink. The counters were clear. The carpet was streaked with impression lines, a sign someone had vacuumed very recently. Dean was on the floor, strumming away on Annie.

He looked up and met Roman with a warm smile. "Welcome home."

"Did you do this?" Roman asked, still amazed by the even better condition of the formerly decent place.

"A little. I wanted to help out a bit, y'know?"

Randy's bedroom door was still closed. "Did Randy come home?"

"I don't think so. It's just been me for as long as I've been here."

Roman arched an eyebrow. "Did you leave?"

"Yeah. I wasn't out long. Just ran an errand."

Roman wanted to be upset, but the point was Dean was alright. He had to learn not to be so paranoid, in spite of their circumstances. He knew Dean hated it when people worried too much about him. _Weirdo_.

"What'd you do?"

Dean smiled. He carefully placed Annie on the floor, then rose to his feet and walked towards the table. Roman didn't notice the Escape Velocity bag until Dean picked it up and handed it off to him.

"I wanted to get you a little something. Just a gift or two, to remind you of how much I love you for putting up with me."

"Oh, Dean, you didn't—"

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't have to, but I did anyway. Just open it."

Roman smiled. "Alright."

In the bag Roman first drew out a stainless steel Superman pendant on a leather necklace. "Aww," he said, fondling the silver "S". "I love it."

"Keep going," Dean encouraged.

Roman next extracted from the bag a little plastic box. Inside was a gray watch bearing the Superman logo. It didn't look cheap. "Holy shit, Dean," Roman said. "This is awesome. I love it."

"I love you, Superman." Dean leaned into Roman and kissed his cheek. "I really do."

Roman fastened the watch around his wrist and pulled the necklace over his neck. He had absolutely no intentions of ever taking the thing off, except perhaps to shower and sleep.

"We have a couple of hours until Seth gets off," Dean said. "What do you want to do?"

That devilish grin told Roman he knew what Dean wanted to do.

In his smile he let Dean know the very same thought was on his mind.

Using more than words, Roman was able to prove his deep love and full commitment to Dean in those two hours, just them, no pain, no drama, no worries.

Just them.

* * *

 **The next chapter reveals more about their fresh circumstances, plus a gripping scene you won't want to miss. I'm so excited to bring you the next part of the seemingly-unending** **trepidation of our boys!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey guys, here's the next chapter for you! A little more bonding between our boys as the story carries on in their harrowing circumstances. I had an exciting plan for this chapter, but I didn't want to stretch it out too far for too long. So enjoy this bit of development and progress, and the action will catch up next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Roman hated goodbyes.

He hated the doleful concept of them so much that it felt like more of a relief to skip them altogether. He could have dodged the apartment all afternoon, all evening, found a way to stay out for the entire night so he wouldn't have to watch Randy pack and see him out of the place. But he wasn't a bastard. He wasn't heartless. He was just sensitive.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his burning throat as he helped Randy load hefty taped boxes of his stuff into a rented moving truck. How fast he'd carried out his plans to leave was staggering. Moving was a bitch of a process, yet Randy had it down. He left behind furniture and kept having to assure Roman that this wasn't a _true_ goodbye, or the end of their friendship which had reached great heights in the previous days.

It still _felt_ true.

It felt a lot like a breakup, or when Roman had kicked his previous roommate out for sleeping with his ex-girlfriend.

The difference this time was there was no frustration to serve as a mask for the pain. He'd really miss Randy.

"That's it," Randy said, heaving down the back door of the truck with a loud rattle.

Seth and Dean lingered back, not wanting to disturb the moment.

Randy patted Roman's shoulder. Roman felt it difficult to look at him; his eyes met the frozen asphalt beneath his boots.

"Hey. You take care of yourself, okay, buddy?" Randy asked. There was kindness in his voice, warmth. "I'll see you again. Don't look so sad."

Roman blinked. His eyes were cold beneath a layer of moisture. "Yeah. I'll see you around school and stuff."

"And maybe I'll be back again someday, once you get everything sorted out."

"Yeah."

Randy took Roman in a tight squeeze. Roman hugged him back without a word. Being sad was hard. Looking weak was taking a risk.

"Catch ya, buddy."

"Later, Randy."

Randy raised his hand to Seth and Dean, then crawled into the driver's seat of the truck. With a mighty roar the vehicle came to life, and it rattled the parking lot with a grumbling engine as it carried Randy away.

Roman watched on, arms folded across his chest. It was very cold.

Dean and Seth made a slow approach. Seth rubbed Roman's back, and Dean wrapped himself into Roman's arms. Roman watched the truck on until the booming engine blended with the evening traffic.

"We need a plan," Roman said, swallowing again.

"A plan?" Seth asked.

"Yeah."

"What did you have in mind?"

* * *

Part one of the "plan" involved finally getting Dean and Seth new phones.

They headed to Walmart to purchase the devices. And the war was on in aisle four of the electronics department.

"The iPhone is the way to go," Seth said, guiding Dean by the shoulders towards the Apple products. "Good camera, variety of games and apps you can play, fast speed…"

"Yeah, but the Android has better customization options," Roman said, grinning as Seth chomped down on his bait in a flare.

"Who gives a shit about customization?" he laughed. "Telling you, Dean, iPhone is the way to go."

"I don't want _either_ ," Dean said. "Just give me a good old-fashioned flip phone. It makes calls and sends texts. I don't need apps."

"A smart phone in this day and age is a good move, Dean. It's better to be able to have updates on the world around you. Especially for someone like you."

"Who, what, doesn't care?"

"He's right," Roman said. "Well, I mean about a smart phone being a better option. Not about the _iPhone_ being the smart choice."

"The battery life on Androids is terrible," Seth pointed out. "Not to mention how much they freeze up and crash? I can't have Dean be in trouble and unable to contact us because he chose a shitty phone."

"Apple Maps is a _joke_."

"Androids are more prone to malware."

"Oh, for the love of _God_!" Dean cried. He skipped off on his own towards the customer service counter. With a fist on the glass, displaying rows of camcorders under bright lights, he asked the service rep, "Can you please show me a smart phone that's not an Android _or_ an iPhone?"

Roman and Seth traded bemused glances. So very Dean.

* * *

The second part of Roman's plan required Seth and Dean returning to their apartment to grab a few things.

Roman was armed with his pocketknife. He'd convinced Dean to pick one up for himself while they were at Walmart. Dean insisted he was fine without one. Roman and Seth asserted their mutual standpoint. Fortunately he didn't argue with them long. There was no sense behind not carrying one on his person, even if nothing else ever happened to him again.

The three of them knew damn well that was most likely not the case.

Seth struggled with the lock. Roman held Dean's cold hand. With a grunt, Seth shoved the door open.

The place was dark, cold. Not as cold as Roman had found it. The windows were still closed. Seth slapped at a light switch on the wall. Roman slithered in front of him, shielding him and Dean both with his brawny figure.

Stillness.

"Where's the paperwork?" Roman asked.

"My bedroom closet," Seth said. "Safety box."

Roman nodded. He half-expected to be jumped around every corner. He scoped the place out, one hand upholding his pocketknife, the other securing Dean in his grip. A familiar chill danced on his neck, and he licked his lips. Living in this sort of fear on a daily basis was harmful to the health of the mind _and_ the body. The stress could have reached fatal levels.

He had to get them out of here.

Dean's bedroom looked normal—as "normal" as Bray Wyatt had left it, anyway. Dean released Roman to obtain the vandalized picture of his best friend and himself.

"Bastards," Dean whispered.

"Nobody in my room," Seth said. The entire space had been cleared. What a relief. "I'll get that file."

"Pack up whatever you can," Roman instructed. "Don't break your back over how heavy your luggage is, but pretend you're not coming back."

"Isn't that the plan?" Seth asked, half-smiling. It was warming amidst their crisis.

Roman lingered halfway between Dean's room and the front door, staring at the sinister message chiseled in its wooden body. _Home_. Did Dean know the meaning of the world? Certainly it wasn't with the Wyatts. It wasn't his place of origin, California. Until moving in with Seth, he hadn't had one at all. The streets had served as his address.

Poor Dean.

He deserved a better existence.

At least he was handling it well. With one or two setbacks, here and there.

Roman wanted to give Dean a home. Not just a house, but a _home_ ; a place he could always feel safe, a place he could always go no matter how far away he traveled in the world. Home was not a building. Home was the very heart of soundness.

He wanted to be Dean's home.

Dean was trembling as he yanked a suitcase from the top shelf of his closet, a fact he tried to camouflage with fast movement and distracting babble. "I hope you have a decent Christmas tree, Ro. We never owned one. You should see Seth's parents' tree. It's fake, because Steph said it was a fire hazard or something. But it's _huge_. And they always decorate it with millions of these little golden lights that flash?"

"You okay, Dean?"

"Sure. Never better." He scooped up an armful of shirts and crammed them into the suitcase without folding them.

"Dean."

"You hungry? I'm kinda hungry. I'm that weirdo who can pretty much eat whatever, whenever. Yet I never seem to gain any weight. Pretty sure if I was a chick, all the other chicks would hate me. Then again, I _do_ work out. Does your apartment complex have a decent fitness center? I think I told you about how crappy the one is here. I need to get back into working out. It's been a while."

"Dean."

"Yes, Superman?"

Instinctively Roman's fingers rose to his neck to finger the silver pendant. "I want you to know that it's okay to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid." He stated it so matter-of-factly that if Roman were anyone else, he just might have believed the words.

"Dean—"

"Look, I've got my moments of weakness, alright. But just because he creeps me out doesn't mean I'm _afraid_ of him." Dean crammed more clothes into his suitcase, then struggled to zip the bag closed. "It's like…riding a roller coaster. It may seem scary. It may _feel_ scary, when you're on the ride. But you can't be too scared, because you know as well as anyone else that it'll all be over soon. You'll be back on your feet on the still ground before you know it."

"But people aren't out of their rights to be afraid of roller coasters. Just like you're not out of your right to be afraid of Bray Wyatt."

"Bray Wyatt might be the scariest roller coaster in the world. But I'm not going to be scared of him. He can scare me, but I'm not scared. There's a difference between a _mood_ and a _psyche_. A temporary state of mind, and a life meant living, and _worth_ living. That's why emotions can be real dicks sometimes."

"What about love? Isn't love an emotion?" Roman raised, trying not to sound accusatory.

Dean looked up at him. "Like I said. There's a difference between a mood and a psyche. How you feel, and who you're meant to be." Dean slowly approached Roman. Roman felt his heart pick up its pace. "Where you always want to be."

Roman almost swooped down for the kiss when Seth knocked on the open door and said, "You about ready?"

"As I'll ever be, my man," Dean said.

"Let's just get out of this place," Roman said with a sigh. How could he miss Dean so much when Dean was _right there_?

Because losing him was too real a possibility.

Dean had better have been careful out there, with that reckless attitude.

Roman would lose himself losing Dean.

* * *

"Man, I can't figure this thing out at all," Dean said, tapping a finger on the already-smudged screen of his new phone. "How the hell do you add contacts?"

"I don't know," Seth teased. He raised a steaming cup of coffee to his lips. "You got a Windows phone, and I don't know shit about 'em." He returned the cup to the table and wiped his lips with a napkin before replacing his attention on the paperwork he'd seized from the apartment.

"What's your lease say?" Roman asked, next to Dean, across the booth table from Seth.

"I was right. There _is_ an opt-out clause." He squinted his eyes and drew the paper nearer to his eyes. "Should have brought my glasses, damn. They printed this text for ants."

Roman grinned. Seth would have looked mighty cute in glasses.

"Says there's a fee, of course…a fee on _top_ of the two rent payments we have to make for 'inconveniencing' the landlord. Fuck, this is going to be costly."

"What the hell is Outlook?" Dean asked.

"It's your email account."

"I don't have an email. Says I need to set one up."

"Maybe you should," Roman said.

"I'll do it later. Skip. How do I skip this step? Skip, you asshole!"

Seth bit his lip, stifling a giggle.

"I'm guessing the place has to be spic and span before you can leave?" Roman asked. "Meaning no creepy-ass message on the door for future tenants to see."

"Right." Seth sighed, lowering the copy of his lease to the table again. "Okay, as far as I can tell, payment will be the biggest of bitches, but there's no further penalties. I'm glad I decided to check."

"Fuck this thing." Dean pushed the phone aside and reached for a jelly packet.

Wayside Cafe was fairly busy. The cold evening had pushed several patrons in for coffee and fluffy pancakes. Roman, Dean and Seth patiently waited for Naomi to deliver their meals. None of them had let her in on their situation, nor gave any hints resembling an existing problem.

"How much will it cost to replace the door?" Dean asked, licking up a glob of orange jelly.

"Dunno. We can hit up Home Depot tomorrow while Ro's at school. Get an estimate. But I don't want to delay. I want out of that place."

"And in with the new," Roman said.

"Don't you kinda feel bad for the new tenants, though?" Dean asked. "Like, what if they've just moved in, they get nice and comfortable, then suddenly the Wyatts show up under the impression we still live there and give the new guys hell?"

Roman and Seth traded glances.

"Didn't think about that," Roman said.

"Maybe I should just be straight-up honest with the landlord, y'know?" Seth asked. "Maybe he won't even wait for our fee. Maybe he'll just kick us out for being 'one with the thugs'. Then he can decide how to protect anyone who moves in there."

"Let's not focus on it right now," Roman said, eyes lifting towards a very delightful sight. "Food's here."

Naomi set their plates down on the table and didn't fail to touch Seth's arm, batting her long eyelashes, before stalking off. Maybe it was just in her personality to be so flirtatious.

They ate in peace. Peace meant no talk of the Wyatts or their predicament. Which meant no talk at all.

The peace lasted until Seth's new phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Please be what I was waiting for—oh, thank God, yes," he spoke aloud to himself.

"What's up?" Roman asked.

"I subscribed to updates on that news article I sent you earlier."

"The one about the shooting?"

"Yep. Moment we've all been waiting for."

Dean performed a drumroll on the table until Seth stared up at him with " _seriously?_ " eyes. His hands went rigid in their rhythm, and he lowered them to his lap, sheepish. Roman chuckled and put an arm around Dean.

Seth scanned each word of whatever update he'd received. His demeanor hardly changed. He looked frozen in time.

"What?" Roman felt he had to ask at last.

"Well, the victims' names were released."

"And?"

He made eye contact with both his friends. "Two names I don't recognize, those guys were arrested for involvement. Ace is the one who died."

"The guy I called?" Dean asked, color draining from his face. _Fuck_ , that had been so against the plan.

"Yep. Antonio 'Ace' Cortez. Age twenty-four."

"Did they say who got shot?" Roman queried.

"Yeah," Seth said. "Luke Harper."

* * *

 **Sorry if that one was a bit slow and dull, guys. I'm hoping you enjoyed the interactions between the guys, at the very least. :) And I hope the ending left you satisfied after the mystery of the last chapter! Stay tuned for the result of that piece of news... You guys are awesome!**

 **Reviews = love!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey, guys. Here's the next chapter for you. I'm sorry it took so long, but hopefully the length makes up for it. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Glass disintegrating, melting, sounding like a wave crashing onto a sandy shore._

 _Explosions. Fireworks? The Fourth of July? In December?_

 _Not fireworks. Gunshots._

 _Automatic. Rapid discharge. Over and over. Loud, so loud._

 _The screams…screams…fright, naturally. Discombobulation. Chaos. Hysteria here tonight. Never before and yet here tonight._

 _A strange kind of pain for what was happening. Should be worse._ Is _worse, probably, but shock functioned as a veneer. No time for his body to respond to the stabbing pain when his brain couldn't calculate just what the hell was going on._

 _An urge to move. Move forward. Why? Why not stay here? Is it safe here? It is safe nowhere. Stay. Rest. Bleed, most likely. You don't have to go anywhere. Let them come to you. Rest…rest…_

 _A name._

 _Dean._

 _That's his motivation._

 _That is why he will not stay here._

 _Move…crawl…onward…keep moving…please…Dean…Dean…_

* * *

TWO DAYS EARLIER

It would physically hurt for Roman to get up this morning.

He was cozy in his pocket of warmth underneath his blanket with Dean. Somehow even in slumber the two managed to hold tight to one another for the entire night. But Roman had class. He hated school in the moment. _I'll drop out and work full-time at the coffeeshop_ , he thought, entwining his fingers with Dean's. Dean unconsciously reacted, giving his digits a gentle squeeze. _Then I don't ever have to get out of bed._

 _Except to work._

 _I'll call in sick everyday forever. Live off unemployment checks. Then I_ really _never have to leave this bed_.

Roman chuckled. His brain sure was stupid on this drug called _euphoria_. He was only in school for another week or so. Then he'd take his finals and his first half of junior year would be down the drain.

So he had to get up. Get dressed. Go to school. Later, work. Even if he didn't, Dean would have to leave him at some point today. They'd be returning to their apartment to negotiate a lease break with their landlord. He hoped this would work.

He was hopeful.

Roman pushed out of bed and slipped into some sweats and a wrinkled t-shirt temporarily. He was still a bit too self-conscious to even wear pajamas to school. He like presenting himself at his best for his professors. He slipped out of the bedroom into an unexpectedly warm living room.

Seth was awake. He'd turned on the gas fireplace, which took little time to heat the area. Through the cracked blinds Roman caught a glimpse of the winter morn, still dark, the sun still slumbering like the lazy bastard it was. A fresh layer of snow overlaid the parking lot. The air was still. It was peaceful.

He pitied anyone who was trapped out in the cold, like at Acacia Park or anywhere downtown, with nowhere to calm home but the streets. He was thankful to Seth for rescuing Dean from such conditions.

The TV was also on, volume low, situated on a news channel. He'd figured out the television pretty quick. Seth was in the kitchen, dressed in a hoodie, sweatpants, long socks, and glasses. Sure enough, he looked _damn_ cute in them as predicted. He leaned over the stove, stirring yellow fluid in a warm pan.

"Morning," Roman said.

Seth spun around and smiled. "Good morning."

"Since when do we have eggs?"

"Since last night. I picked some food up from our place. I went grocery shopping not too long ago, so they're still in date."

The toaster released two crisp pieces of toast. Seth swiped them and delivered them onto a waiting plate. The eggs were beginning to congeal. He lifted the glob into the spatula and flipped them over.

"Wow. Eggs and toast for breakfast. Where've you been all my life?" Roman asked.

Seth chuckled. "I lived on my own for a long time. It was learn to cook or resort to fast food each and every day. Plus, if I didn't cook for Dean, he'd probably starve."

"He can't cook?"

"Dunno. I just know he doesn't."

"He's so weird." Roman glanced at the TV as a story about a bear cub found in the garage of someone living downtown shifted to breaking news about a recent shooting in the city.

"Oh, here we go," Roman said. He hurried to the couch, grabbing the remote off the side table, to turn up the volume.

"A fight in the parking lot of a southern Colorado bar escalated when one of the people involved in the fight started _shooting_ , according to police," the blonde reporter declared. She was replaced on the screen by a photograph of said bar. 15C. "The incident happened shortly before two AM Sunday on the 2500 block of E. Bijou Street near East Platte Ave. Police say two groups of people got into a fight, and at some point, _multiple_ guns were allegedly drawn from the side of both parties. Twenty-four year old Antonio Cortez was shot in the head and died shortly after. Another man, twenty-six year old Luke Harper, was taken to the hospital with a gunshot wound to his shoulder. He is expected to recover. Most of the group had fled before police arrived, but two men were taken into custody."

She listed the names off and revealed mugshots, but neither of the men were Bray Wyatt. Neither of them looked to be Wyatt family members, either. Roman could only guess these were other men Dean had called pretending to be Bray, or perhaps a couple of Ace's accomplices.

He'd gotten away from the bloody brawl. Even he was even there from the start. Luke had taken a bullet for him.

One way or another.

"So what happened?" Seth asked. He couldn't hear the news over the sizzling pan.

"Fight outside the bar where the Wyatts are known to hang around. Guy who Dean first called ends up dead. Both his buddies are taken into custody. Luke Harper was shot in the shoulder. Bray was supposedly nowhere to be found."

"Really?"

"Well, he wasn't shot nor arrested. Either he ran like a little pussy, or he wasn't with his brother when Ace confronted Luke."

Seth removed the pan from the heat and reached for a salt shaker. "So these guys probably rounded themselves up to go confront Bray. Found Luke Harper instead. Shots were exchanged, but Ace's ended up being fatal. Police show up, and Ace's fellow gang bangers are dumb enough to let themselves get caught."

"It just fucking figures that Bray would escape. _Again_."

"He won't go far. Not if Luke is in the hospital. Want some breakfast?"

Roman turned the volume down on the TV once more. He didn't want to think about the Wyatts anymore right now. "Sure. I'd love some."

Roman set the table while Seth finished up the meals. He smeared jelly and butter over each slice of toast, and Roman helped himself to half. He sat across from Seth. He couldn't get over how adorable Seth looked, bundled up in warm clothing, unkempt hair, glasses. He was aware of the little crush he had on Seth. No feelings that would ever go anywhere, no romantic attraction that could overcome how he felt about Dean. He was crazy in love with Dean. He and Dean were meant to be. Perhaps in another life, if he'd known Seth first, if he'd met Seth under different circumstances, things would have been different.

"So what classes do you have today?" Seth asked. He tore into the toast with his teeth, leaving behind a smear of jelly on his upper lip. He licked it away. It reminded Roman of Dean.

"Abstract Algebra and Civil War and Reconstruction. I have them on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Then there's Microbiology I only have on Fridays, but it's a three-hour long class."

Seth made a face. "Too long for me. But I'm glad you enjoy it."

"Enjoy might be too strong a word."

"Tolerate it for the sake of a degree?"

"There we go." The boys giggled. "The classes start earlier, so they get out earlier, and I can be home sooner."

"Take your time. Dean and I have a full day ahead of us."

Dean wasn't awake by the time Roman had to leave for school, so he kissed his sleeping love on the head before trekking out into the rousing December morning. _Be safe_ , Roman wished upon him.

* * *

It was a process that took a day and a half.

According to Seth the landlord had been merciful. He understood hard times and Seth didn't have to impose specifics of their situation. He'd put an ad for the apartment up on craigslist so help the landlord find a new tenant soon, per the arrangement on Seth's behalf. After splitting the price of the fee with Dean and dipping into a savings account, the boys were ready to move out.

Roman was out of school and assisted Dean and Seth in the move until he had to go to work. Seth rented a truck from the same company that had supplied Randy with a vehicle the day he left the apartment. They'd purchased a great amount of boxes from Home Depot along with a replacement door which Seth installed himself. It was dark again, early in standard winter fashion, by the time everything was transferred from Seth and Dean's place into Roman's apartment.

Dean scoffed when Seth told him he wouldn't be offended if Dean shared a bedroom with Roman.

"I share the apartment with both you guys," he'd said. "I've been on the streets. I don't _need_ a room. They can both be partially mine."

The next morning, the boys went to Roman's landlord to discuss the situation. Roman didn't quite fill her in on details, either, nor did he mention Seth and Dean had already moved in and weren't planning on leaving whether she let them in on the lease or not. Fortunately there were no problems. Deposits were made (Roman had assisted here), background checks were cleared, and Seth and Dean spent the afternoon unpacking and arranging everything while Roman was in school.

Dean and Seth were both napping on the couch when Roman came home. He was amazed that every box was empty, stacked in a tower by the front door, and the place was orderly. It felt a bit smaller, slightly more cramped with the existence of both Dean and Seth's property, but it didn't bother him in the least.

Perhaps someday they'd live in a larger place together.

Perhaps a house.

He was pretty delighted to find a kitchen full of food. Not a completely stocked pantry or cabinets, but certainly more than he'd had before. He'd gotten away without grocery shopping for a little while now. He'd have to commit to that now that he had _two_ additional mouths to feed as well as his own.

Since Seth had committed to making breakfast—the only one awake even earlier than Roman on most days—Roman decided to treat his new roommates to dinner. He browsed his options. He found many boxes of pasta in the pantry and couple of frozen chickens in the freezer above a bag of broccoli.

He got an idea.

Dean was the first to stir as Roman prepared dinner. He trotted into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Roman from behind.

"Hey, you," Dean said.

"Hey, yourself," Roman answered.

"What are we having?"

"Chicken and broccoli penne pasta."

"Shit, that's fancy," Dean said, sounding impressed.

"We can pretend it is. Most of this is store-brand."

Dean grinned. "Got any grape juice? We can pretend it's wine."

"No, but I have real wine. And beer."

Dean stuck out his tongue. "I hate beer. Too bitter."

"Whatever you want, love."

Dean ambled towards the fridge. "I'm glad I'm here with you, Roman. I really am. Despite the circumstances that drove me here."

"I'm happy you're here too, Dean."

"Seriously, though, I hope we're not barging in on your life."

Roman touched Dean's nose. "I've been indescribably happy since the day you barged in on my life. So continue barging."

"Will do," Dean said, snickering.

"God, you guys are loud," Seth said, stumbling into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Evening, Sleeping Fugly."

"Screw off." But Seth was smiling. "Anything I can help with, Ro?"

"You can sit your ass down and let me cook for you for a change," Roman said.

Seth scoffed. "Fine. See if I'm ever nice. To anyone. Ever again."

"Except me, right?" Dean asked. "You've gotta be nice to me."

"Nope. Especially not you. You make me sick, just looking at you."

Dean swatted Seth's arm playfully. Seth seized it and gently pinned it behind his back. Dean struggled to escape the hold, dropping to his knees.

"Hit me one more time and see what happens," Seth dared.

Dean accepted the challenge. He thrust his other elbow back, tapping Seth on the ribs. Seth wrestled Dean to the living room floor, pinning Dean's shoulders to the floor with his knees. Roman watched on, amused, slightly jealous.

"Apologize," Seth said warningly. "You know what's coming if you don't."

Dean's cocky little smirk spread over his face.

Seth prodded him in the ribs with his slim fingers. Dean burst into shrieking giggles, kicking his feet like a child throwing a tantrum, squirming helplessly under Seth's trained hold.

" _Se-eh-eh-eh-eh-th_!" he managed through laughter. " _Knock it off_!"

"Nope," Seth taunted. "I warned you."

" _Ro-oh-oh-ma-ah-an_! _He-eh-eh-elp me-ee-ee_!"

"Unbelievable," Roman said, temporarily leaving dinner on the stove, towering over Seth and Dean. Seth gave him a moment to breathe. "You're ticklish?"

"No?" Dean tried, when Seth targeted his ribs again. His defiance dissolved under his childlike laughter.

"Okay, _yes_!" Dean exclaimed. "Worse weakness than _caramel_!"

"Move over, Seth," Roman said. Dean was almost relieved when he added: "I want in."

"What?"

Roman dropped to his knees and assisted Seth in the assault on his poor ticklish love. Dean was _awfully_ sensitive on his ribs, on his stomach, and he couldn't escape the twenty fingers that attacked him like tiny weapons. They tickled him until his laughter was breathy and particles of sweat clung to his face. They'd worn him out. Roman chuckled as Seth released him from the pin and Dean sat up.

"Fuck both of y'all," he said. "Seriously. I'll get you both back. Just you wait."

A cloud of steam was lifting from the pot. "Shit," Roman said, hurrying back to the kitchen before the food burned.

"Was it worth it, nearly ruining dinner just to pummel me like that?" Dean asked.

"It sure was," Seth laughed. "Pizza's just a phone call away."

Seth was the one to help set the table this time, and once Roman was finished, the three settled down for their first official meal together as roommates. Warm against the cold weather outside. Happy against the wretched world.

* * *

It was Thursday, and Roman was happy.

Instead of looking forward to his mysterious musician coming into Java Central tonight, he looked forward to the upcoming performance of his boyfriend, the talented and outlandish Dean Ambrose. He'd missed listening to Dean play, aching for his musical voice, even longing for the way he plucked the strings on his guitar. It had been a long while since Roman had a true sense of normalcy, and this would draw it right back into his life. Even if only for a little while.

"How've you been, Roman?" Dolph greeted him at work. Dean wasn't due for a while. Seth was coming tonight, too. It would be the first time Roman had ever seen them together at the coffeehouse during open mic night.

"I've been alright," Roman answered, straightening the dining room. "Hanging in there, you know? Living day by day." _Trying not to worry about the Wyatt brothers coming after Dean or Seth or me for ultimately getting one of their own shot. But how would they know it was Dean, anyway? He wouldn't. Bray can't possibly link the two, can he? Or would he just assume Dean had a part in it_?

"That's a good way to do it," Dolph said, interrupting his thoughts.

"How've _you_ been?"

"Eh. Things have been better."

"You alright?"

"Eh…it's Lana. She thinks my ex is trying to make her way back into the picture." Dolph ran a damp rag over a dirty table.

"Is she?"

"She's been trying to get into contact with me. Writing on my Facebook wall, sending me texts. But it doesn't mean anything. Lana just gets freaked over the littlest things."

"Can you blame her? You _are_ a stud."

Dolph laughed. "Thanks, Ro. Hopefully it all blows over soon. I fucking hate drama, dude."

"As do I."

To his surprise, Dean and Seth arrived with the swelling crowd half an hour until seven; not just after the night kicked off as Dean normally did. Roman greeted him with a smile and took their order. The largest of salted caramel mochas the coffeeshop had to offer. Seth ordered a panini, and Dean added two muffins to his mocha.

"Muffins for dinner?" Seth asked. Dean nodded, giving Seth a look like he shouldn't have believed anything otherwise. "Why do I even question these things anymore?"

They also sat a table close to the front. Not by the door.

This wasn't normalcy. This was much better.

Roman welcomed change as long as he was safe. As long as the people he actually cared about—as strange as the thought was—were safe.

Another break in Dean's former open mic night behavior: as soon as Curtis welcomed the multitude to Java Central and officially opened the microphone to pending performers, Dean snatched his guitar case and nearly sprinted onto the stage. He'd cut off two individuals who seemed just as surprised as Roman was that Dean actually wanted to go first. Roman decided he didn't want to stand behind the counter and watch Dean tonight. He reclaimed Dean's chair at the table with Seth. A front-row seat to the best show in the world.

"Hi, I'm Dean, and this is Annie," Dean said into the microphone, freeing his practically satiny instrument from her protective leather container. "And this one goes out to Roman."

He strummed a very familiar set of notes. It wasn't "More Than Words", but a fond tune that touched Roman deep down as a divine memory played like a vision in his mind.

" _Would you dance if I asked you to dance?_

 _Would you run and never look back?_

 _Would you cry if you saw me crying?_

 _Would you save my soul tonight?_

 _Would you tremble if I touched your lips?_

 _Would you laugh? Oh, please tell me this._

 _Now would you die for the one you love?_

 _Hold me in your arms, tonight_."

Tears pricked at the corner of Roman's eyes. He played with the Superman logo dangling from its chain. His entire face was smiling, a grin that went far beyond his mouth. Dean had never looked happier either. His singing lips remained uplifted, his beautiful eyes closed, as he hit the chorus they'd shared their first kiss to.

" _I can be your hero, baby._

 _I can kiss away the pain._

 _I will stand by you forever._

 _You can take my breath away._ "

He opened his eyes for the slight pause, lifting them towards Roman. Roman's heart erupted. Dean carried on.

" _Would you swear_ —"

The great glass windows suddenly shattered. Sharp blasts rang out, following the sound of the exploding glass.

Roman's first thought was, _Are those fireworks_? No, of course not. It was December, not July nor the end of the year. So what were they?

Gunshots, his mind could gather several seconds later.

Time moved faster than he was able to process it.

Someone was opening fire on the coffeeshop.

Then came another explosion, a detonation of screams from the terrified patrons. The little place was alit in loud terror, discombobulation. Glass breaking. Gunshots. Screams.

Roman grunted as he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder. Muscle spasm? What a strange conclusion. His body gave in on itself, and he collapsed to the floor.

What was happening?

He thought he heard someone scream his name.

There was no time to worry about himself, whatever pain this was. His thought process moved in slow-motion, but something was very, very clear to him. There were guns here. Danger was present. Someone was shooting. And whoever it was, whatever the reasoning behind it, he needed to protect Dean and Seth above all.

He put his own pain on hold and crawled forward. His vision was blurry and blackening. _Nope_ , he commanded himself. _Keep going. Don't pass out. Dean needs you. Seth needs you_. He could barely make out what was two inches in front of his face, let alone Dean who seemed so far away, a hologram, a misty figure in the distance. He used his legs to push his body forward like an old turtle on the sand. _Keep going. Keep going. Come on_.

His body was enflamed with pain.

Still didn't know why.

Still didn't want to take the time to learn.

Couldn't stop moving.

Wanted to. But couldn't.

 _Dean. Seth. Dean…Dean and Seth…Dean_ …

The ground above him suddenly escalated. _Ah, the stage_ , he realized. It took a bit more strength to make it over this particular hill. His entire figure felt frozen stiff. But it wasn't cold. _Why can't I move any faster? For fuck's sake_ …

The world didn't make sense.

He didn't make sense to himself.

All that made sense was playing hero.

Funnily enough he could still hear Dean playing the song in his head in spite of the chaos around him. He was almost singing to himself like a loony as Dean's figure, sprawled on the stage like a fallen soldier, became clearer.

Was he losing his mind?

"Dean," he managed to say aloud.

"Ro?"

So he was alive. What a relief.

"Just hang on, Dean."

Success. Roman crawled on top of Dean and let himself rest.

 _Take me. Not him_.

He'd made it.

Roman blacked out.


	22. Chapter 22

**What's up, guys? I'm back again! :) I know y'all are mad curious about the aftermath of the previous chapter's insane ending, so here it is. For those of you who've read my other stories, you've probably figured out I like hospital scenes. Don't know why! Hospitals are usually gloomy places. But there's almost always a hospital scene in each of my stories, though I've never had to stay overnight in one as an adult (thankfully.) I've also never been shot (again, thankfully), but I do my best to provide a logical story, as close to realism as I can manage through extensive research. Even in a fictional AU story, my wonderful readers deserve a sense of accuracy. :) All that to say, enjoy this next chapter! You won't be disappointed! :)**

* * *

 _He should have guessed he was dreaming._

 _But the atmosphere felt very real, too real, scary real._

 _He felt like the viewer of a movie, watching Dean roll into a bar Roman had never visited before in his life, and no matter how much the spectator implored and bellowed and ordered the main character of the flick not to go into the scary place, the hero naturally could not hear the cries and therefore ignored them._

 _Dean shielded his eyes from the colonized smoke in the air. He waved to a bartender, who looked like someone Roman had met once or twice before, who gestured back. Dean had not a trace of fear in his air as he sauntered towards the corner of the shabby establishment. Roman followed with his eyes._

 _Bray Wyatt was there. He didn't look surprised to see Dean at all._

 _"Okay," Dean said. His voice was prominent even over whatever harsh music blared through the speakers on the ceiling._

 _"Okay, what?" Bray asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer. Roman could hear him over the deafening beat, too._

 _"I'll come back. I'll do whatever you want, Bray, just leave Roman alone."_

 _"No!" Roman cried. Dean didn't hear him. Didn't look back his way once. Roman wanted to get to Dean, to yank him away from Bray's very presence, but in the moment he was trapped as if cemented in place. He couldn't move. Whatever invisible force bound him here was relentless, sadistic for making him watch this. "Dean, I'm right here! Don't do this!"_

 _"Good boy," Bray said, reaching out and gently tucking Dean's hair behind his ear. "I knew you'd come to your senses eventually."_

 _Bray snapped. Luke Harper was suddenly there with others Roman didn't recognize. They seized Dean by the shoulders and knocked him against the wall. Business carried on in the bar as though they were invisible to the other drunk patrons._

 _"What are you doing?!" Roman roared. "GET OFF HIM!"_

 _Dean made a disgusted face as Luke cackled in his ear, "Welcome home, pretty boy."_

 _"DEAN!" Roman screamed._

* * *

"Ro? Roman? You coming around, buddy? You with us?"

"Dean," Roman said again. His throat was arid. His voice felt weak. He was no longer screaming—he couldn't gather enough air in his lungs to produce the great noise he'd been generating before.

"Hey, Roman. It's Seth. You're alright."

Roman's eyes fluttered open.

He was no longer in the bar. This place was much quieter, calmer, brighter; zero smoke, more sweet air to breathe. All he could hear was a steady heart monitor emit beep after beep after beep, an occasional buzz—a hiccup in the machine—that proved he was very much alive.

 _Alive_.

Roman grunted. His neck itched. He reached to relieve the tingling, but his fingers felt a rough patch of dressing instead of flesh.

Seth was with him. He took a gentle hold of Roman's hand and drew his wiggling fingers away from the bandage. Why was it there? Why was _he_ here? Where _was_ here?

He still felt dazed, his mind bleary. Seth's face was all he could make out in a bright background.

"Seth?" Roman asked, not exactly to verify Seth's obvious presence but to feel the comfort of his voice.

"Hey, Roman."

He blinked. The light began to dissipate. Perhaps it wasn't actually as bright in here as he thought. "What happened?"

" _Someone_ "—the tone revealed Seth had a good guess as to the identity of this 'someone'—"shot up Java Central. It was a drive-by. Emptied some kind of semi-automatic rifle into the joint, then took off."

The more Roman blinked, the clearer his surroundings came to be. Seth was no longer a floating head bobbing on an ocean of luminescence. His entire figure leaned over Roman's on a bed atop a scratchy green blanket. The room they were in was narrow and smelled of clorox. His right pointer finger was pinned in a sensor connected to the heart monitor.

"I take it I caught one of the bullets with my bare hands," Roman said, noting the tiny blue gown enveloping his muscular form. The tight fabric stopped just beneath his hipbones. It was probably an amusing sight for whatever nurse had dressed him this way.

Seth smiled grimly. "You would have if you'd been facing that way, sure. And, y'know, psychic, so you could have predicted the shooting. You're pretty badass like that."

Roman mirrored his bleak smile. It dropped as a troubled thought surfaced in his head. "Where's Dean? Is he alright?"

"He's fine. He stepped out a few minutes ago. Said he was dropping by the gift shop."

Roman managed to arch an eyebrow. "You believed him?"

Seth stood up straight. "Yeah…should I not?"

"What time is it?"

Seth checked on his phone. "Little after midnight."

"Does the gift shop stay open this late?"

Seth blinked, his eyes open wide now. "Shit, you're right. Want me to go check on him?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, I'll go do that. I'll go let the doctors know you're awake, too. We've been worried about you."

"Thanks for caring."

"Yeah. You bet. Glad to see you up."

"I'm getting there. And I'm really glad you seem to be okay, too."

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. Little shaken up, but I'm not hurt."

"Thank God."

Seth lingered for a quiet moment, as if taking in the relieving sight of a vital Roman, then stepped out of the hospital room. Roman sat up. It didn't hurt, but his muscles felt stiff from the prolonged stillness. Instinctively his hand raised to rub his neck, but he was met with the thick layer of gauze again.

Why was his neck bandaged?

He swore he'd felt the discomfort in his shoulder…his arm…

But Roman could find no indication of physical trauma on either arm. No other cuts, wrapped wounds or even bruising; just a few sleep lines, printed into his skin by pillows and sheets in his slumber.

He wasn't alone for long. A tall blond man in a white coat stepped into the room, clipboard in his hand. "Hi there. I'm Doctor Jericho. I've been watching out for you tonight."

Tonight? So he hadn't been here long, or even longer than he thought. Was it still Thursday? "Hi, Dr. Jericho."

"Could you please verify your full name and date of birth, sir?"

 _Why_? "Uh, sure. Roman Reigns. May 25, 1994."

"Good." He made some note on his clipboard. Maybe this was a way of testing his brain's functionality, or to make sure some patient hadn't switched places with Roman for whatever reason. "Do you remember what happened, Roman?"

"Barely," Roman said. It hurt to try to think of it. He wanted to dodge that nightmare, too. "My friend Seth kinda filled me in."

Dr. Jericho smiled sweetly. As though his situation was worth _grinning_ over. "You took a single bullet to the side of your neck. Your exam didn't show injury to any deep organs or tissues. There were a few bullet fragments left in place, because removing them may cause more injury to the nearby tissues. Scar tissue will form around that area. Once healing is complete, fragments usually don't cause any symptoms, so you shouldn't have any problems with it. Your body heals itself, like nothing ever happened."

 _Like nothing ever happened_. Roman nearly chuckled at that one. _Good one, Dr. J_. "Wait," he said, remembering something. "I was shot in the neck? I could have sworn it was my arm. I remember a lot of pain, especially in my shoulder area."

"That's perfectly normal. Mixed signals can trick you into thinking there is a problem in one area of your body, when the origin is in another. It's a condition called _referred pain_. More than likely, nerves that were damaged in your neck set off a warped sense of pain in your arm."

 _Shot in the neck_ … "I can move, though. How the hell am I not paralyzed?" Roman wiggled his fingers as best he could to further demonstrate this miracle.

"The bullet only grazed your neck. It made contact with your skin, took out a chunk of it. I stitched you up and put on the dressing. It'll protect it during the healing process."

Roman leaned back against a firm pillow. He let out a great sigh. _Unbelievable_. "Stitches. I get shot…and the result is just stitches."

"You got very lucky, Roman."

"I was tripping pretty hard for someone who just got grazed."

"Shock affects everybody differently. I take it you've never been in a situation like this before."

"No. Never." Roman so badly wanted to scratch his neck, the area the bandages protected. "So I'll be able to go back to school?"

"If you don't feel like taking a day off just to rest. As long as you follow my home-care instructions, you should be completely better in a matter of weeks."

A day off to rest wasn't feasible if he could help it. Not this close to the end of the semester.

Although getting shot was a pretty good excuse for skipping a class…skipping a final altogether…

Seth reappeared in the doorway. Dean was behind him, looking sluggish and deteriorating. His hair was in disarray. His eyes were swollen and purple as though he'd exhausted himself by crying. He looked ready to break down again as he made Roman out.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Superman," he whimpered, voice breaking on the last syllable. His trembling frame tromped toward Roman, and Roman sat up as best as he could in bed as he took Dean into his arms. Dean put his chin on the side of Roman's neck without the bandage and wept into his shoulder, "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Roman, this is all my fault…"

Doctor Jericho understood the gravity of their moment and stepped out of the room. Seth made his way to the other side of Roman's bed.

"Dean, what matters is I'm okay," Roman said. "I'm alright. I survived."

Dean pulled away from Roman. "I told you I was going to protect you, Ro. I said it, and I let you down." He shoved hair from his tired eyes. "I fucking let you down. You're in here because of me."

"I'm in here because of a maniac with a gun. You didn't do this to me."

Dean bit his lip. He pressed his folded arms tight over his chest.

Roman's hand rose to his neck again, this time the center where his necklace pendant usually rested. It wasn't there. "Where's my necklace?"

"On the counter," Seth said. "They took it off to patch you up."

"I'm just glad I didn't lose it."

Dean was no longer speaking. He stared down at the off-white ground in a rather unusual silence.

"What'd you get me?" Roman asked.

Dean looked up at him. "What?"

"I heard something about a gift shop. Or was that supposed to be a secret?" Roman tried to smile, but Dean chuckled softly, humorlessly.

"Oh, yeah. I was on my way down, but as soon as I saw Seth, I figured there was an update on your condition. He said you were awake, and I just wanted to see you."

Seth gave Dean a look that Roman registered as skeptical. What was that about?

"That's sweet. But I was only teasing. You don't have to get me anything."

"But you know I will."

"Only if you really, truly want to."

"Of course I do."

"Then you'll have to wait until morning," Seth said, still looking at Dean. "Looks like they closed at seven."

"Oh." Dean's face flushed. "Guess I lost track of time, then. Sorry. It's been a fucking crazy night."

"I don't blame you," Roman stated. Why was Seth acting so paranoid? Was it his own shock still taking great effect on him?

"Can I bring you anything from the cafeteria, Ro?"

"Probably closed too, Dean," Seth said. He wasn't acting afraid. Very irritable, but certainly not fearful.

"Oh, right." Dean chuckled. It sounded forced. "How about the vending machine down the hall, Ro? A pop-tart or a candy bar?"

"You know, that does sound good," Roman said. "I'm starved, and I probably don't have any other food options right now."

"Great. I'll bring you back something sweet. What about you, Seth?" He craned his neck to stare into his best friend's eyes.

"Oh, I'll go with you."

"Unnecessary."

"I think it is, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I doubt whoever shot up Java Central followed us here, Seth. Relax, max. We're alright, okay? We're safe here. You don't need to play bodyguard."

Seth shook his head, giving up on whatever he was going for. "Fine, Dean. Go to the vending machine."

"Think I got some cash in my wallet…" Dean snatched his worn-out leather wallet from the counter that also held Roman's necklace and other belongings. "Back in a flash."

When he was gone, Roman asked, "What was that about?"

"He was talking to someone on the phone outside the very obviously _closed_ gift shop," Seth spilled. "I asked him who he was talking to. He had to think about it. Obviously he was surprised to see me standing there. He told me it was my dad, then hung up right away. I asked him if he'd just hung up on my dad. He said, 'Yup. He's probably tired. Let's go see Roman.' And scurried off."

"You think he's trying to cover something up?"

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I nearly made him _jump_ when he saw me behind him."

"Why didn't you just ask him again?"

"I was waiting for him to be honest with me. Clearly that wasn't going to be the case. I'm just frustrated he'd lie like this in our circumstances. I do my best to protect him, and now he's holding back secrets."

"And you're absolutely sure he wasn't really talking to your dad?"

"If my dad heard from Dean what had happened tonight, the first thing he'd do is tell my mom. Doesn't matter what the time is—he'd wake her up and tell her. Then the first thing _she'd_ do is call me up to find out if I was okay." He held up his phone as evidence. "No calls. Not even a text. He wasn't talking to them. He's lying to me."

"Then who could he be talking to, and why wouldn't he want us to know?"

"Isn't it obvious? He's trying to contact the Wyatts. Put an end to this."

Roman swallowed. "No…that can't be true." _My dream cannot become a reality. It can't_.

"He broke tonight, Ro. He was bawling the entire way here. He thought you were dead. You weren't moving when the paramedics pulled you off his body. It was hard enough staying strong for myself, let alone for him. I had to be the one to tell him everything would be okay, when it's usually the other way around. I was worried as all hell about you, Roman, but Dean…" Seth licked his lips. He paced back and forth in front of Roman's bed. "His biggest weakness isn't sugar and sweets, or his reckless attitude, or even his ticklish ribcage. His biggest weakness is us, Ro, especially you, as jealous as I admit it makes me feel that someone could overcome my position in his life."

Roman felt both flattered and remorseful over the fact.

Seth shook his head, his blond and brunette locks swaying. "You can't tell him this, because it would just send him into bigger hysterics, make him feel even shittier. But what the police said back there at the coffeehouse, what they told me when I gave a statement before heading here, was the way you were sitting…how you were right in front of the stage tonight, in front of Dean…that bullet could have hit him. It should have, if it hadn't been for you. You took what could have hit him right in the chest. What could have killed him."

"I took a bullet for him?"

"Yeah. You really are fucking Superman."

Roman blushed. "I would have done it on any day."

"So would I."

"You're right about keeping that little piece of info from him. Can't imagine what he'd do in that instance…"

"It doesn't matter. It seems to be too late now. He's either gonna do something irrational in an act of revenge against them, or he's going back to them to make the attacks stop. They're in this unending game of ping pong now, just going back and forth, back and forth…Bray says check, Dean moves another piece. It had to end at some point. It couldn't go on forever."

"Then why aren't you out there stopping him? Making sure he's not planning anything?"

"It doesn't matter what he says or what he plots, Ro. His mentality doesn't necessarily define his actions, not if we have anything to say about it. We're not going to let him go to them, in _any_ case. Whether he wants to draw up another attack or surrender to the gang members again, it's not happening. He's staying far away from those freaks."

"I agree."

"He thinks he can protect us this way. And look how well that's worked out."

"Seems to be taking a long time," Roman said, eyeing the door. His heart swelled with black terror. "You don't think—"

"No. He wouldn't have left as long as you're here in this hospital room. It's after tonight we have to up our surveillance on him. Make sure he doesn't run off."

"If you're sure."

"I'm usually right about these things. I'm unfortunately a pretty good forecaster for Dean's impulses."

"Well, one thing is for sure. I'm not staying here tonight."

"You sure?"

"You know how much an overnight stay at the hospital costs on average? Fuck that. With my medical bills most likely already pretty high, I'm set on not spending more than I need to."

"What if the doctor says to stay?"

"It's not his call. He told me earlier I'm all stitched up and he's got some home care tips for me to follow. I think I'm good."

"If it's an issue with money, Dean and I can—"

"Seth, I just want to go home." Roman was exhausted. The longer he stayed here, the longer he stayed awake, the more tempted he was to miss class the next day. Spend an entire day resting in his apartment with Seth and Dean. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to be with except the two people he loved most.

Seth pressed his lips together. "Okay. Alright, let's get Dean and Dr. Jericho back in here and find out what's up."

As if on a cue, Dean hopped back into the room. "Hope you like Snickers," he said, handing over the candy bar to Roman. Roman peeled off the wrapper and took a bite. He didn't realize how hungry he was until after that first mouthful.

Dean nibbled on a snack of his own: a chocolate chip cookie. He handed a package of peanut butter crackers over to Seth, who slipped them into his pocket, clearly not hungry or unwilling to eat for another reason.

"Everything good, Dean?" Seth asked.

"Oh, yeah, this is _delicious_ ," Dean answered. "Love me some chocolate chip cookies. Can't beat a classic snack like this one, right, Ro?"

"Right," Roman sighed. What the hell was Dean up to now?

Doctor Jericho entered again. He went over his care instructions, strongly advising Roman to follow them to a T. How to wash and care for his wound, the _do's_ and _don'ts_ of recovery. Serious symptoms to watch out for, to contact either Dr. Jericho or his regular physician should he experience any. A warning of how obviously traumatic a shooting is, and some common mental side effects of such an event. Roman had already encountered one of those symptoms: the nightmare.

When Roman asked if he could be released that night, the doctor was clearly hesitant about agreeing, but he'd been right. There was nothing further the doctor could do for him that Roman couldn't do for himself. Dr. Jericho recommended scheduling a follow-up appointment for next week. Roman agreed to it.

Seth and Dean both promised the MD to look after Roman and make sure he followed the doctor's orders to ensure total healing as soon as possible.

Though the discharge process took nearly an hour, with Dr. Jericho prescribing some painkillers and antibiotics for Roman's injury and the matter of the bill, Roman was finally free to go.

"Where's my car?" was his first question outside the hospital, which glowed white in the darkness of the winter night.

"Still at the coffeehouse," Seth said. "But you're tired, and I've got my car. I'll drive us back home, then we'll get it tomorrow or something. Okay? I'm sure it won't get towed."

"Okay," Roman said, offering no protest. "Thanks."

Roman napped on the drive home. It was too short of a sleep to produce any dreams, thankfully. He'd rather not dream at all than have his brain succumb to another hell like what he'd seen.

 _How likely that hell will come to earth…come true_ …

He didn't want to think on it. He didn't even want to think on what Dean was planning, whoever he'd been speaking to on the phone. The car rolled to a stop and Roman stirred from his light sleep. He was home. He was alive. Dean was alive, Seth was alive.

That was what he wanted to think on.

The positive.

Roman carefully changed into pajamas. His wound had received a fresh dressing from the doctor before he left. He was careful to avoid touching the area as he stripped of his shirt. Dean and Seth were as ready for bed as he was. Seth gave Roman an easy hug and wished him goodnight. He made his way into Randy's former room and closed the door.

Dean, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts, creeped under Roman's comforter.

"You alright, Dean?" Roman asked him.

"Yeah, more than alright. So glad you're alive, Ro. Now come join me. This bed is too big for just one person."

Roman tested something. "Seth said you were on the phone earlier? Outside the gift shop?"

"Oh, yeah. I just rang up his folks to let them know what was going on, in case we ended up on the news or something. It probably will. I mean, who shoots up a coffeehouse? Bunch of no-good fuckers, that's who. I hope his parents weren't too upset about being woken up so late. But I felt they deserved to know."

Was Dean lying to him? He tended to ramble when he was hiding something…

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Roman, I miss you even when you're standing right in front of me. Come hold me. Please." He held out his arms, bottom lip jutting out.

 _What is he hiding_ …

But Roman flicked the light off and joined him in bed. Dean snuggled up close to him, linking his arms around Roman, hands pressed against his back. The hold seemed tighter than it was other nights.

"I love you so much, Roman Reigns," Dean whispered. "You're my world. You're my everything. I can't…I couldn't go on without you, Ro. As fucking weak as that makes me sound. It's true."

"I know how you feel, Dean. It's everything I feel about you, and more."

Roman felt Dean's warm, soft lips on his cheek. His breathing steadied further and further as the minutes passed. In a little while he was asleep.

* * *

 _Roman was on the street._

 _A great pressure crushed his chest. A boot on his sternum. Attached to the foot was the rotund, bearded, sadistic fucker Bray Wyatt._

 _Standing over Roman like playground bullies were the Wyatt brothers, Bray leading the assault._

 _"It's over," Bray hissed, giggling. He pressed down harder on Roman. Roman grunted, coughed. The intake of breath was difficult. "It's over, Roman. He's mine."_

 _One of the figures suddenly turned into Dean. He was crying again._

 _"D-Dean?" Roman wheezed._

 _"I'm sorry, Roman," Dean said, but it was not his voice—it was Bray Wyatt's. "It's the only way to protect you."_

 _Bray kicked him in the face. Howled laughing. Blood leaked from his nose like a faucet. Dean watched on, remorseful yet…one of them._


	23. Chapter 23

**Hey, guys. I'm really sorry I didn't update this story sooner. This week has been hell. I'm struggling to recover from a very nasty breakup. Hard to write with a broken heart. But I'm back, and as I get stronger day by day, so does my drive to bring you more of this epic story. I hope this chapter makes up for my short absence. Lemme know what you think!**

* * *

Roman woke up flailing and gasping for breath. His clothes were plastered to his body in a cold sweat.

He was alone in bed, a thought that concerned him for but a moment. He glanced at the nightstand—not his own, but one had Dean had brought along from his old apartment and assembled on "his" side of the bed—and saw Dean's stupid Windows phone still plugged into its charger.

Surely he wouldn't have left home without that.

Right?

With Dean there was no telling. Roman would have to get up and find out for himself.

Dean's phone screen lit up. Instinctively Roman took a look at it. His heart was warmed to see Dean had finally figured out how to set his own picture as wallpaper, and the photo he'd selected was one of Dean, Seth and himself the other night at the Wayside Cafe. All three were smiling. They looked so happy.

But the phone had lit up because Dean had a text message.

Roman's curiosity gained advantage. After Seth's declaration of a mysterious phone call, he needed to at least make sure Dean was safe.

The sender's contact information was not saved in Dean's phone, as above the message was merely a phone number as opposed to a full name. The message underneath was chilling.

 **Confirmed meeting The Marriott South, tonight at 10:30. Go to reception and ask for Jeff.**

Jeff? Who the hell was Jeff?

Did he have anything to do with the Wyatts or Dean's plight with them?

Wrong number?

He had to find Dean, now.

Roman pushed out of bed. He didn't bother getting dressed in spite of the frigid room temperature.

Dean was alone in the living room, Roman found. The fireplace was going, the blinds were drawn closed, and the lights were on. Dean sat perched on the couch, bowl of cereal balanced on his knees, in front of an unfamiliar show on TV.

"Morning," Roman said.

"Morning," Dean said, flaunting a smile. "Ever seen _Dallas_ before?"

"I've heard of it. Never watched it, though."

"Neither one?"

"I didn't know there was…more than one."

"Ah, dude, it's fantastic. It ran from 1978 to 1991, then they rebooted it in 2012 and that went for two years. Can't beat the original, but the reboot wasn't too bad."

"What's it about?" Roman went from frosty to sweltering in the cozy living room. He lowered himself on the couch beside Dean. Dean tried so hard not to get caught ogling at the nearly nude Roman. The effort was adorable as Dean's eyes twitched, fluttering from Roman's own eyes to down at his body.

"It's a soap opera. Started off about this marriage between Bobby Ewing and Pamela Barnes, and their families _hated_ each other. Then oil tycoon J.R. Ewing became the main focus. All of his dirty deeds and whatnot."

"Hmm." It didn't sound like Roman's cup of tea, but if Dean liked the show, there had to be _something_ good about it. Dean was picky. "Where's Seth?"

"Work. He'll be off at three." Dean was helpless looking at Roman now. He was succumbing to his feelings. "So we have the place to ourselves for a long time…" He set the cereal bowl on the side table.

"Yeah, we do," Roman said, feeling a smirk. He loved, loved, _loved_ the way Dean looked at him. It was not a look of lust, not merely of physical attraction and that known passion about him…but Roman knew that when Dean looked at him, he had love in his eyes and commitment in his heart.

Roman was Dean's, all Dean's, and Dean was all Roman's.

Dean leaned into Roman, his breath warm on Roman's neck. "Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

"Not ever, I don't think," Roman said.

"You are. Might be a weird way to describe a muscular hottie like you, but…it's true. You are _beautiful_. Inside and out." Dean touched a hand to Roman's chest, above his rapidly beating heart. His fingers were cold. Roman decided to fix that by taking hold of Dean's hand and pressing them against his own warm cheek. Then he drew them to his lips and kissed each finger.

Dean leaned further in, putting his lips on Roman's.

Roman closed his eyes and dove into the pool of ardor—

But it was a shallow pool. Cold water. No lifeguard on duty.

All he could see with his eyes closed was that _helpless_ look Dean gave him in his dream. Bray Wyatt's face took the place of his love's as Bray crushed Roman's chest beneath his oversized foot.

Roman gasped, yanking out of the kiss.

"Ro?" Dean asked, pale. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just…" Roman pushed hair from his face and took in the comfort of his real surroundings. With a sharp sigh he said, "Just had a nightmare."

"Well, whatever it was, it was only a dream."

 _Was it, though_?

"Come here. I'll give you something better to think about." The cocky smile was back. "Wish your neck wasn't all taped up. I'd try on you what you do to me. Gives me goosebumps every time."

Dean gently pushed Roman back so he was lying flat on the couch. Dean moved atop him, his feet brushing against Roman's, his face just beneath.

Dean planted a line of kisses from Roman's collarbone—opposite side of the bandage—down his chest. Sloppy kisses turned into a muscled assault as Dean glided that sexy tongue of his down Roman's chest. Roman groaned, biting down on his lip as Dean lapped over perhaps one of the most sensitive areas of his body, his nipples, which were now stiff and standing. Dean caught onto this and spent a little more time here, gliding his tongue skillfully, leaving behind a gleam on both of Roman's nipples.

Roman's eyes closed again and once more tried to concentrate on his love, his love and nothing but—

He saw the text message behind his eyelids. Each letter, word for word, spelling out the mystery.

The thoughts overlapped one another. _Who is Jeff—wrong number—Dean—Wyatts—who—meeting—what is he up to—what is he hiding—_

Roman grunted. He wouldn't be able to focus on this right now, despite the sudden tightness of his boxer shorts. He sat up, even with Dean still on him. Dean was suddenly in his lap, just above his aching, erect dick.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, a bit more sternly this time. He wouldn't take "nothing" for an answer. Fortunately Roman was willing to be more honest. He wasn't sure, however, if Dean would.

"Okay, so don't get mad at me…" Roman said.

"Why would I get mad at—"

"—but I was getting up this morning and your phone went off, and I wasn't snooping or anything, but I saw you had a text. Something about a meeting? With a guy named Jeff?"

Roman stared at Dean's face, studying it carefully, inspecting for any indication that Dean was about to lie right to his face.

But his face didn't alter. Not in the slightest.

His eyebrows dipped and his eyes lowered. "My uncle?"

He asked as though Roman was supposed to know that. "Jeff is your uncle?"

"Yeah. He's my dad's brother. He's in town on business for a few days, and he wanted to check in on me, see how I'm doing." He clamped his mouth shut, as though rambling on and on the way he usually did—when he was trying to hide something—would give something away.

Roman raised an eyebrow. Why would his own uncle require Dean to ask for him by name at their meeting place?

"What else did it say?"

"Just confirming a meeting with him." Roman forced out the specifics. "Tonight. 10:30."

"Sounds about right. Assuming his flight makes it in on time. Might get delayed because of the weather. It's a blizzard out there."

"Is it?" Poor Seth, having to work out in these conditions. He considered what he could do for Seth when he got home, to help warm him up.

"That's why the blinds are closed," Dean explained. "Thought it might help keep the cold out. Or something."

Roman wasn't ready to give up on this yet. "So you're meeting your uncle tonight. Can I come? It would be interesting to meet one of your family members."

Roman caught Dean's tongue going over his lip. Like he was nervous. "Might not be a good idea right now, Roman. Someday, but…he doesn't know much about me right now. I kinda want to fill him in easily. Slow and steady."

"You don't want him knowing you're with me?"

"Not right now. Maybe someday." He sounded irritated.

"You…ashamed of me or something?" Roman hated to throw that line out there, but he really wanted the truth out of Dean. So far he sensed Dean was feeding him anything but.

"No," Dean said, gasping. "No, not at all, Roman. You know this. I'll make out with you stark naked on a bed in a Macy's, that's how proud I am to have someone like you."

The obscure thought made Roman forget about his irritation, just for a moment, and laugh earnestly.

"It's just…he's a weird guy. He's the holier-than-thou, judgmental type. Really reserved, disapproving of a lot. I just have to butter him up a little before I fill him in on how my life's gone to shit lately. With one notable exception."

Roman nodded. _What a crock_. "Okay. What about Seth? Seth is innocent in all of this. He's not someone your uncle would disapprove of, right?"

"Dunno, Ro. Maybe he's not, or maybe he'll chew Seth out for being a three-time college dropout."

Roman was stunned. He hadn't been aware of that bit of information. Had Dean meant to be so forward? How could he be brutally honest about Seth's life and not his own? Didn't he trust Roman?

"There's no telling. That's _why_ this meeting has to run smoothly. This is the first contact I've had with a blood family member in _years_. I don't want to screw it up, Roman, I don't." Dean looked him straight in the eyes, cutting into the soul. "Do you have my back on this, or not?"

Dean was sad. Truly sad. Whatever this meeting consisted of, whether or not it was really with an uncle, Dean was desperate for everything to go right. Roman wasn't going to get anything else out of him for the time being. He didn't want to nag.

But he wanted to know.

"Sure, I do, Dean. Of course."

Seth would have to help him out. Roman was anxious for him to get home. This was a mystery they could solve together. It would be tricky, considering their lead witness was more than likely lying through his beautiful teeth. But they could do it together.

Roman just wanted Dean out of harm's way. This wasn't to be an obsessive, jealous, mistrustful boyfriend. This was for Dean's own good.

Dean bought Roman's conclusion to the discussion. He kissed Roman's cheek. Roman was limp again. His stomach growled, begging for breakfast.

"Ready for breakfast?" Dean teased.

"Yeah."

Roman changed his dressing before eating. He washed his hands in the bathroom and carefully removed the bandage from his neck. The skin was red and blotchy. The stitches were bold and black, very apparent. It looked hideous. Wearing a thick, fluffy, white bandage over the area somehow looked more attractive. He followed his doctor's instructions and cleaned the wound warily before applying the new dressing.

"I look like Frankenstein with a missing bolt," Roman said, staring his own reflection down.

Behind him, Dean wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. "Still Superman to me."

Dean watched another episode of _Dallas_ while Roman made himself an egg sandwich. As he sat down on the couch to eat, someone knocked on the door. The knocks were quick and loud. Frantic.

Roman and Dean traded frightful glances.

"Who the hell?" Dean asked.

 _If it's this Jeff guy, maybe I can get some answers. But what a ridiculous thought_ , Roman thought, setting his plate to the side. _Jeff doesn't know where I live. Whoever he is_.

Roman opened the coat closet and yanked a jacket off a hanger. As he pulled it on over his arms, there came another loud series of knocks.

"Okay, _chill_ ," Roman said. He grabbed the doorknob, gained a smarter idea, and pressed his eye against the peephole.

"Who is it?" Dean queried.

"Oh, my _God_ ," Roman breathed. He couldn't get the door open fast enough. Finally he pulled it open and took in the full, wonderful sight of Randy Orton standing outside.

"Hey, Randy," he said. "What are you doing here?"

Randy looked panicked. "Are you okay, Ro?"

"I'm hanging in there."

Randy stepped into the warm apartment. Roman locked the door tight behind him. "I heard about the shooting at J/C this morning. I was _freaking_ out, 'cause I know you always work on Thursday nights. Then I couldn't find you on campus, and nobody had seen you…" He ran a hand over his face and looked Roman up and down. "You had me scared, man."

"I'm…sorry. If it had been my choice, there definitely wouldn't have been a shooting."

Randy moved in for a hug, but he cringed at the sight of Roman's bandage. "Holy fuck. Did you get shot, Roman?"

"Maybe a little."

"He took a bullet to the neck and pulled through like a champ," Dean said.

"It was just a graze," Roman clarified. "It wasn't too bad. I got stitches."

Randy filled the gap between them, his chin over Roman's healthy shoulder. His squeeze was tight, strong, brotherly. Roman missed the hell out of Randy while he was gone, and those feelings came to him in a heavy reminder as they held one another.

"I'm just glad you're okay, man."

"Thanks, Randy. It means a lot that you came to check on me."

Randy pulled away. "So, what about work, then? I drove by the coffeeshop and it was all closed off. Yellow tape, police cars, the works."

"Dunno. I'm waiting to hear from Dolph or my boss or something."

"It's completely closed off?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Randy confirmed.

"Dammit," Dean said, slapping his knee. "My guitar might still be in there. I never grabbed her before I went to the hospital with Roman."

"Once I hear from someone from work, I'll see about getting inside and getting Annie back," Roman promised.

"Sounds good. I really miss her. My fingers are actually _hurting_ , not playing her right now."

Roman was delighted to see Randy pulling off his boots. It meant he was staying, at least for a little while. "The place looks smaller, somehow," he noted, eyes inspecting every inch of his former home. "I take it you found a replacement for me?" he asked, smiling towards Dean.

"Seth took over your bedroom," Roman said. "Dean kinda shares mine."

"Right on. Oh, dude, is this _Dallas_?"

"My favorite show," Dean said.

"Sick, man." Randy sat on the couch next to Dean. "Is this pre- _Who shot J.R._ , or post- _Who shot J.R._?"

"This is a way earlier episode. Practically pre-J.R."

"Did you ever play the board game?"

"There's a board game?"

"Of course there's a board game. It was the seventies and eighties. Everything got a game back then."

"Everything _still_ gets a game," Dean pointed out. "This time it's just video."

"And most of them blow."

"True that."

Roman was thrilled to see them both here, getting along, talking like this. He helped himself to his sandwich on the other side of the couch. While Randy and Dean dove into a conversation about video games, Roman sent a text Seth's way, expecting him to reply whenever he was on break or lunch.

 **Does Dean have an Uncle Jeff?**

It was an hour later, while Dean was introducing Randy to his very first round of _Metal Wars_ on Seth's Xbox, when Roman received an answer.

 **None I've ever heard about.**

 _That figures_ , Roman thought.

"My character is such a badass!" Randy cried, laughing like an evil villain. "He just pulled a flamethrower _out of his arm_."

"Which class are you?" Dean asked. "Oh, yeah, him. He's like Captain Hook, except instead of replacing his lost hand with a hook, it's with a flamethrower."

"This is so fucking sick. Unrealistic as hell, but sick."

Roman's phone buzzed again. He hid his character away in a corner to protect himself from the enemy, and read the next message from Seth.

 **Why? Something up?**

He tapped out a quick response: **Dean got a text from some guy named Jeff confirming a meeting between them. Said it was his uncle but idk. Gotta check up on it. Not getting any answers from him.**

"Oh, Roman…" Dean sang.

Roman glanced up at the screen just in time to watch his soldier get blown away by a sniper at close range.

"You cheat," Roman laughed. "Sniping isn't for up close."

"Quit hiding away like a little bitch."

Roman cooked up a frozen pizza for lunch a little later on, and it was a relaxing, cold afternoon for the three of them. Nothing but games, cheap food, trash talk and warm hearts.

Randy did have to leave for class around the same time Seth was expected to be home. He pulled on his coat and boots and gave Roman another careful hug.

"You're a trooper, Roman Reigns. Don't ever believe otherwise."

"Thanks, Randy. It was so good to see you. You have no idea."

Randy smiled. "And Dean? Look out for him, alright? No more bullets."

"Yes, sir. I won't let anything else happen to him." He braided his fingers with Roman's.

Before Roman could open the door for Randy, the lock unlatched on his own. Aided by a key from the outside, Roman realized as Seth pushed into the apartment.

He looked sick. That was made clear right away.

"Hey, Seth," Randy said.

"What's wrong with you?" Roman asked.

"You guys haven't seen this?" He jerked a thumb towards the door, which he held open with his foot.

"Seen what?" Dean asked.

Seth bit down on his lip. He was _not_ excited to show them whatever he was preparing to show them. He pulled the door fully open, exposing the warm apartment to the frosty December air. There was a pile of scrap just outside the door.

Roman's heart sank as he realized what specifically the scrap pile was—or used to be.

Dean's guitar.

The neck was cracked in two places and completely detached from the body, the splintered end looking like a stake. The strings were slashed, torn from the fingerboard and wrapped in knots around the neck. The pick guard was completely smashed into the sound hole. The top looked like a crushed soda can. Beneath the heap was strips of cracked wood, the remains of the bottom of the guitar, left behind.

Dean broke.

"OH MY GOD!" he screamed, collapsing to his knees and crawling desperately towards his fallen instrument. He stroked the body, gripping the neck tight in his trembling hand.

"How the f—who the f—" Roman said, devastated _for_ Dean. This was a personal blow. Completely unnecessary but the dirty deed had done the trick on him.

Dean bent over his broken guitar, sweeping his arms over the remains and drawing it all together in a hold, sobbing. Crying over Annie. He seemed to be the type who would only tear up at a funeral, but over this, Roman didn't blame him for losing his mind. Roman was nearly ready to fall into his own tears. Annie had been the tool that helped bring them together. Roman knew what she meant to Dean. Losing her was like losing part of his soul, part of his identity.

"Dude," Randy said, remorseful in his own way.

"How did this happen?" Roman demanded, eyeing Seth.

"I—I don't know," Seth said. "Maybe one of them grabbed it in the chaos…or they sneaked in afterwards…I don't know." He moved to hold Dean in his arms, but Dean was twitching and flailing about, out of control. His wails were pleading, as if begging the music gods to bring restoration of health to his beloved treasure, his precious instrument.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!" he screamed. "IT DIDN'T HAVE TO HAPPEN! IT DIDN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS!"

Roman glanced out at the parking lot, his heart heavy and his mind frying itself into another anxiety attack, wondering if Bray Wyatt could see the episode now. He could visualize the monster sitting in one of those cars, watching Dean break down like this, and not a word would cross his lips but he would laugh, and laugh.


	24. Chapter 24

**Hey guys! Here's the next chapter for you. Thanks for being so patient with me. :) A mostly dialogue-based chapter where Dean fesses up some privy information and a new character is on the brink of introduction. Can you guess who it'll be? I'm excited to reveal! Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review~**

* * *

Crying was exhausting.

Before too long Dean had fallen asleep in Roman's arms on the couch. Even in sleep his face was twisted, eyes swollen, and salty tears dried crisp on his reddened cheeks. Roman held onto him as a mother would cradle her infant. He wasn't one to croon a lullaby, but he would hold Dean for the rest of the day and all night if he had to.

Seth was on the other side of the couch, hands folded, resting on his knees. He'd sat down and hadn't wanted to move since Dean fell asleep, so not to disturb his merited rest. The fire cackled in its place in the corner. It was sweltering hot in the apartment. Roman wanted to strip of his jacket, but he didn't want to move.

"Poor guy," Seth said softly several minutes later. Dean couldn't be disturbed by now. "I can't believe those fuckers did that…that's cold. That was completely over the line."

"Unnecessary," Roman concurred.

Seth drew his glasses off his face to clean the lenses with the end of his sweatshirt. "I was thinking about getting him a new guitar for Christmas, anyway. Not as a replacement—but in addition."

"Hey, _I_ was thinking about getting him a new guitar for Christmas," Roman said.

"Nuh-uh, it was _my_ idea."

"It was my idea!" he playfully argued in a whisper.

"Pool our money so we can get him a better, more expensive one?"

"Deal."

"Great." Seth stretched his arm out for a high-five, and Roman weakly slapped it. "Is there any pizza left?"

"Should be some on the pan. On the stove."

Seth pushed himself off the couch. His work pants were a little too small for him, hugging his waist in sexy tightness. Roman had to stare down at Dean to remind himself where his heart really was. A crush on Seth, a physical attraction was numb and nonexistent compared to what he felt for Ambrose.

"So what were you saying about a mysterious text?" Seth asked, snatching the remaining pieces of pizza and dropping them onto a paper plate.

"Check his phone. Lemme know what you think of it."

"Where is it?"

"Still plugged into the charger, in my room. He hasn't touched it all day."

"Alright, Scoob, let's solve a mystery."

Seth disappeared into Roman's bedroom and returned with Dean's phone a moment later. He reclaimed his seat on the couch, mumbling about how stupid Windows phones were and working one was near impossible. Perhaps he felt less guilty about poking into Dean's phone, because he'd known Dean longer and was fed up with any potential lies Dean could muster.

If he was lying.

Roman still hoped somewhere, somehow Dean was being truthful.

Seth must have accessed the message because he stated, eyes squinting, "Dean said this was his uncle?"

"Yeah. Visiting town for a few days on business."

Seth shook his head. "Didn't think that one through far enough, Dean. Did you notice the number starts with 719?"

719 was the Springs's area code. It was a local number.

"Why would his uncle text him from a Springs phone if he's only 'in town' for a few days?"

Roman couldn't think of any justification. His head was swimming. His heart was melancholy. What did Dean get out of lying to him? To his best friend?

"Something's not right about this, Ro."

"What do we do? Dean's supposed to meet him tonight."

"Well, he's not going to. And I'm going to find out just who this guy is."

"How's that?"

Seth took Dean's phone into his own room, then returned again with his laptop. After nibbling a bite of pizza, he opened up the computer and punched something into a web browser.

Roman's arm ached. The other was falling asleep. He did his best to readjust, sit more comfortably, but where Dean was made it difficult. He could hold on a little bit longer. At least long enough for Seth to complete his investigation. If Dean awoke and wanted to go back to sleep, Roman could carry him to his bed.

"Reverse number lookup," Seth said, tapping some more keys on his laptop. "Creepy as hell, but works wonders if you want answers."

A pause. Seth frowned. "Or not. All this site can tell me—unless I want to pay for a membership, but screw that—is the number's based out of Colorado Springs."

"So much for that, Shaggy."

"Hey, you have longer hair than I do, man. Shaggy's your guy."

Roman chuckled. "Fair enough. Freddy, then?"

"Hot leader who takes charge and gets the girls? Hell yeah."

"Freddy? Hot? Please, he's a staple of the seventies. Totally dorky."

"They're all dorky, Roman. They drive around in a hippie van with a talking dog and solve mysteries for no pay. What kind of life is that?"

Roman chuckled.

"You know how much gas that big-ass van probably takes?" Seth went on. "How do they pay for it all? And how do they pay for all those Scooby Snacks? You know Shaggy's gotta have some cash on him for how often he hits the bong. What kinda side work is he doing to support his weed habit?"

Roman had to suppress his laughter. His chest shook, and Dean's head shifted. Still he rested soundly.

Seth concentrated on his work at hand. "I tried two other sites and got the same thing. Nobody wants to reveal the owner of this phone without thirty bucks to pay for a dumbass membership."

"They figure if people are willing to be creepers, they'll pay for it."

"That's probably true. Let me try something else."

Seth tore another bite of pizza off, chewed it up and quickly swallowed, then jumped off the couch, his own phone in the other hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Going straight to the top, Shaggy."

"Hey, I might be a nerd, but I'm not a hippie."

Seth smiled wordlessly. He punched a number into his phone, pressed the device to his ear, and waited. He began rocking back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Was he nervous about whomever would answer the call? If anyone did?

"Yeah, hi, I found this phone at my restaurant when I was cleaning up tonight, and yours was the last message sent to it, so I was wondering if—" A pause. Seth licked his lips. "Well, the contact information says Dean Ambrose, so maybe since you messaged him, you'd—" Another pause. "So there's no way you can—" Seth looked irritated. He was clearly getting frustrated with consistent interruptions. He licked his lips. "Alright. Sorry to bother you, then." He pulled the phone away from his ear. "Dick."

"Survey says?" Roman asked.

"First he started questioning how I got his number, even though I explained to him that it was on the phone I'd 'found.' Then he said he'd never heard of Dean Ambrose in his life. _Then_ he said to leave him alone and forget the conversation ever happened."

"Some uncle."

"Unless he has Dory syndrome, I'm pretty sure he was lying."

Roman frowned. He'd expected that, but it still hurt for someone else to verify the fact.

"Want me to track this guy down? Find out who he is? Kick his ass?" Seth offered.

"I don't think so, Seth. Wouldn't want all of us to end up in the hospital this week."

"Wake Dean up and I'll interrogate him, then."

"Seth, he wasn't even honest with me, and one of the very first things he did to you when you met is lie. Gave you a false name, a backstory. I'm sure he'll be just as faithful to his lie with you as he was with me."

"Well then, what do we do, Roman? We can't let him go to this meeting alone. Who knows what he'll get himself roped into?"

Roman looked down at Dean. In spite of everything he'd ever done wrong, Roman still loved him. It hurt, though, to love him just for the moment. _Why would Dean lie to us after everything we've done for him…to protect us? To protect himself? It's obvious he cares about us a great deal, so why stoop so such secrecy_?

"Maybe we do," Roman said, thinking out loud.

"Maybe we do what?"

"Maybe we let him go to the meeting. But we tag along. Eavesdrop. We're there the entire time in case things go south."

Seth looked down at the carpet, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes. "Damn, we really are Mystery Machine-ing it up in here, aren't we?"

"It's the only way I can think of to find out what's really going on."

Seth nodded, quiet again. As Dean began to shift, he darted out of the living room, back into Roman's to return Dean's phone to its charger.

Roman watched Dean's eyes flutter open. "Hey, you."

"Hey, yourself."

"How are you feeling?"

A single tear slinked down Dean's cheek. "Ever wanna go to sleep and never wake up?"

"Not frequently."

"Lucky you. It's a shitty feeling." His mouth stretched into a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Little after seven."

"Shit. I didn't mean to sleep that long. I didn't mean to _sleep_."

"You needed it."

"I'll be up all night now." Dean sat up, stretching his arms up high. Roman poked him in the ribs, and Dean brought his arms down defensively.

"Want some dinner?"

"Sure, that sounds good." He pushed off the couch. "I've got a little bit of time before I meet my uncle, anyway."

Roman bit the inside of his cheek. The words stung like a wasp. What was he hiding…?

Seth emerged from the bedroom. He didn't look too merry.

"Hey, Rockin' Rollins. What's good?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I need to know something," Seth stated.

"You mean you don't know everything already?"

Seth didn't chuckle, or even offer a micro grin, at Dean's quip. "Who is Jeff and what are you hiding from us?"

Wrinkles of surprise shaped on Roman's forehead as his eyebrows peaked. He couldn't believe Seth was being so abruptly forward.

"What do you mean?" Dean was just as thunderstruck at Seth's brusqueness as Roman was.

"You haven't been honest with me. I've let it slide in the past. I knew everything you'd said that wasn't true was just you trying to do the right thing. I got that. I still get it. Maybe your heart's in the right place this time, but it's hard to believe when I don't have answers. So prove me wrong. Let me know it's okay to keep trusting you, that you haven't gone off the frickin' deep end and gotten yourself into even _more_ trouble."

"Okay…?" Dean glanced from Roman to Seth again. Roman stayed seated on the couch. He wasn't involved in this quite yet. "What do you think I'm lying about?"

"Who is Jeff?" Seth asked, emphasizing each word tautly.

"He's my uncle," Dean rejoined with the same accentuation.

Seth's chin tilted towards his chest, a glare materializing in his dark eyes. Roman had never seen him so sullen. "Quit _lying_ to me, Ambrose."

"What are you last-naming me for?" Dean queried, sounding offended. "I'm telling you the truth."

Seth uplifted two palms to surrender. "Fine. You know what? Fine." His hands fell again, arms slapping against his sides. "You know, I've done everything for you, Dean. Everything one person could _possibly_ do for another, I've done. I took you in when you needed someone to protect you. I all but completely saved you from those damn Wyatts. I called you my brother, my family. You always have been, and you still are, but…" Seth licked his lips, shaking his head like a disappointed father. "When you pull shit like this, it makes me feel like you don't even care about everything I've done for you. Like it was all for nothing. Like if I had never taken you in…it wouldn't have made a difference."

Dean's jaw was unhinged. The silence that followed Seth's oration was stifling, even to Roman. Seth offered no further words. He twisted his body and dispersed to his bedroom, closing the door with force behind him.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked.

Roman sat back against the couch. His back ached from leaning forward for so long as he'd listened to Seth. He'd never been so conflicted in his life. So torn between was was right, and his heart pressing him not to screw up the best thing that ever happened to him by calling Dean out on his obvious untruth.

"I…I can't blame him, Dean," Roman said at last. _Take it back_ , his feelings warned, but he sided with logic for this case.

"What are you guys _talking_ about?" Dean asked, almost wailing.

A bit of anger whisked in Roman's stomach. Dean knew. He had to know. Seth had mentioned it twice. Why was he so stubborn? "Seth called up the number you got a text from earlier. Jeff? The meeting? We wanted to find out if you were telling us the truth."

Dean cocked his head. He'd lost the right to be upset over the intrusion, if that's what he was feeling. "And?"

 _He_ really _wants me to spell it out for him? What does he_ think _we found out_? "Seth said the guy answered and claimed he had no idea who you are. So whoever answered the phone is _not_ who you said he was."

Dean drew in an unstable breath. He placed a hand over his throat.

"Dean, I fell in love with you against all odds. You wanted me to stay away, to _not_ get involved in your business, but I did. That's the way it worked out. And I'm willing to keep protecting you, even if it kills me. My heart is one thing. But Seth? You can't be yanking him around on a chain forever. He's your best friend. He was around long before I was, and he'll always mean something to you that I can't replace. You mean _everything_ to him. I knew it from the moment I met him and saw you guys together. He'd die for you. He'd take a bullet—" Roman halted the sentence, his wound somehow feeling assaulted by his own words. He allowed himself to finish the sentence. "For you." Dean still didn't know that Roman had, in fact, taken a bullet for him. "But if you keep pushing him away like this, he could snap again. I doubt he'd want to leave, but you don't know a man's limits unless you're desperate enough to keep pressing his buttons just to see what he does about it. If you're going to lie to me, I will be affected by it, I will hurt, and I'll cope with it somehow. But I'm not going anywhere. It's not me you need to worry about. Seth is a great guy. Look at all he's done for you. Are you really going to keep taking advantage of his friendship by deceiving him like this?"

Dean shifted weight unremittingly from one foot to the other. His arms were folded, tight against his chest. He seemed to find it more comfortable to stare at the carpet, the wall, even the foot of the couch. Anywhere but directly into Roman's eyes.

Roman waited for an explanation. He'd get one now. He'd struck a nerve.

"I didn't lie," Dean muttered. He raised his eyes to Roman at last. His pupils swam beneath a film of moisture. "I just…didn't tell the whole truth."

"Same thing," Roman pointed out.

"No, it's not, Ro. It's really not. Hear me out."

"Sorry."

Dean sat on the couch. He was quiet for a long time. Roman was impressed by his own forbearance. _I'd rather wait for the truth than get another lie in a millisecond_.

"Jeff… _is_ my uncle," he said. "Even if the two of you don't buy it, he really is. But his name isn't Jeff. That's his cover. It's a way to protect his identity and his profession. Of course he's not going to answer to a complete stranger on the phone and admit he knows me, let alone that he's family. That's for my sake as well as his own."

Roman supposed that made a bit of sense. He wasn't ready to take Dean's words one way or the other until he heard the entire clarification.

Dean meshed his hands together in his lap. His knee bounced violently. "If you absolutely need to know his real name, Ro, it's Mark William Calaway. He's my father's stepbrother, so he might not be blood, but he's still family. I've contacted him because I know that he can help me with the Wyatts."

The name didn't sound quite so made up. "So, he's from California, or from here?"

"I take it you're asking 'cause of the area code on his number. Whenever he travels, he buys a prepaid, no-contract phone from Walgreens or something. He doesn't want to be tracked, again, to protect his identity and profession."

Dean stopped talking long enough for Roman to ask another question. Dean must have guessed Roman had several, and he was correct.

"What's his profession?"

"That, I actually can't legally tell you. That's not on me; that's on him."

"Okay." Roman supposed it didn't matter what the profession was, at least not right now. "And you don't want us to meet him because…of the identity thing?"

"No. Well, yes _and_ no, I guess. If you guys met him, he might be a little closed-off. I'm family, he trusts me, I trust him. He's not so open with strangers. So seeing his face, meeting him isn't an issue. It would be getting anything out of him. He's not even the type to tell you his favorite color, or order something that's _not_ his favorite food at a restaurant, just so you wouldn't know that about him, either."

"Very reserved. I can see where you get it from."

Dean half-smiled. "The reason I didn't want you to meet him is because I want you _and_ Seth out of this now. I'm done letting you guys suffer on my behalf. The Wyatts aren't going to be your issue anymore, and after Uncle Und—" Dean swallowed back whatever he was about to reveal, superseding it with, "Uncle Mark, they sure as hell won't be my issue, either."

"'Und—'?" Roman questioned, since it was honesty hour.

"I was about to call him by his nickname," Dean disclosed. "Nobody who works with him or knows what he does calls him _Mark_. But his nickname is part of that secret identity I keep talking about. Don't think he'd want me to let anyone in on that one, not even my best friend or my boyfriend."

In spite of the ice that chilled and blued Roman's heart the moment he realized Dean was keeping secrets from him, he felt a warmness, a thawing, when Dean directly referred to him as his boyfriend.

"I guess I can understand that. If he wants his privacy protected."

"He does. Very much so. Roman, I mean it when I say you and Seth are my heart and soul."

"Which one gets to be the heart, and which one's the soul?"

Dean drummed his fingers on his knee. "Well, you _have_ my heart and I have yours…but then again, I feel like you're my soulmate, so it's hard to—you know what, both of you. Equally. Heart and soul, Roman and Seth."

The ice had completely melted away. Roman was glowing on the inside and it showed outwardly as a silly grin unfurled over his face.

"Anyway," Dean said, chuckling, rubbing his nose. "You've both gone to the ends of the earth for me. To hell and back. So much so that heaven can't accept you, sorry about that. And I figure, the best way to repay everything the two of you have done for me is to keep you as far away from this Wyatt bullshit as I possibly can. And I really, _really_ feel like this is the last step I have to take to get them to fuck the fuck off, forever."

Roman couldn't believe it until it actually happened. Not that he didn't trust Dean—not anymore, anyway—but he'd been amazed at Dean's efforts to throw the Wyatts off his trail, and completely baffled when they kept returning to hound him.

He'd just have to wait and see the results of Uncle Mark's "work" with them.

"So don't worry, alright? Never have to worry about those swamp apes again."

"Okay."

"And I'm sorry if you felt I was being dishonest. I really wasn't. I could see how you'd think that, but now you know. It wasn't to be a heartless, unappreciative bastard. It was to protect you. And Seth. And my uncle."

"Okay, Dean."

Dean drew in a deep breath and pushed it out of his lungs with great force. "I tire myself out from how much I talk sometimes." He craned his head towards Seth's closed bedroom door. "Take it he won't wanna talk to me for the rest of the night."

"I'll go make sure he's alright."

"I wouldn't, Ro. It's nothing on you, but Seth shuts down when he gets pissy like this. It's best to let him cool off alone."

"I think he'll be alright talking to me."

"Okay, but don't take it personally when he refuses to talk to you."

"I won't." Roman was known to take things personally sometimes, but he still wanted to check on Seth. If anything else, provide Dean's explanation, reveal all Dean had divulged, and see where Seth stood after that.

"I'll rummage through the pantry. See what sounds good for dinner."

"You feel like cooking?"

"I make the best damn ramen in the world. Ask anybody. And by anybody, I mean Seth. He'd know better than anyone else."

Dean strode into the kitchen. At least he wasn't crying about Annie anymore. Roman wasn't ready to touch on that subject ever again. He'd feel much better at Christmas when he received his present from Roman and Seth. Assuming Seth wasn't so furious that he'd back out of getting Dean a gift at all.

Roman knocked on Seth's door.

"Piss off, Dean."

Roman cracked the door, poking his head inside. It was still surreal, seeing Seth's possessions, furniture, belongings in the place of Randy's. Seth in the place of Randy himself. "It's me."

"Oh. Hey."

No "piss off, Roman." A good sign. Roman slipped into the bedroom and pressed the door closed. Seth was on his bed, lying on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, aggressively pressing buttons on a singing, whirring 3DS that Roman didn't even know he owned.

"What game is that?" Roman queried.

"Pokemon Y. I like it better than X."

"I didn't know you liked _Pokemon_." Roman was proud of him.

"It's not my favorite, but it's a good game. I like demolishing and enslaving small creatures for pleasure when I'm frustrated."

"Hey, that's the first sign of a serial killer, you better watch out."

"Then we have an assload of future serial killers from my childhood and in this generation." Seth cracked a smile. Another good sign. Roman sat on the bed beside him, and Seth paused his game. "What's up?"

"Dean told me the truth."

"Yeah? What's that?" Seth challenged. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"This Jeff guy _is_ his uncle, but that's not his real name. It's Mark."

"Of course it's not. Sure. I believe it."

"Apparently Mark has some sort of secret profession that Dean didn't want to leak?"

"Of course he didn't…"

Roman built up a wall of patience. Seth had the right to be angry. "But it's going to apparently help Dean take care of the Wyatts."

"'Cause every plan like that of his has worked so well in the past. You don't actually buy it, do you, Roman?"

"Well…kind of. He sounded genuinely honest." He didn't tell Seth that Dean had admitted to withholding more of the truth, but claimed he'd never lied. Seth wouldn't believe that and Roman knew it. "I did. I believed it."

Seth scoffed. "Alright."

"You still don't trust him?"

"It's hard to, Ro. It really is. Why would he admit all this shit to you, but not to me? I thought he and I were closer than that."

"He responded better to a calm approach, not yelling."

"I wasn't yelling," Seth defended.

"No, but you were angry. And whatever he'd said to you in that time when you were fuming, you probably wouldn't have believed anyway, right? Just like you don't believe everything he's told me that I'm telling you right now?"

Seth sighed. "Guess you're right. But I'm still having a difficult time taking it all in. Wondering what's real or not."

"I understand."

"He still meeting with his _uncle_ tonight?"

"I believe so, yeah."

Seth looked into Roman's eyes. "I still want to tag alone. Eavesdrop. Find out what we can."

"Think Dean would be okay with that?"

"He doesn't have to know. Just like we apparently don't have to know what his 'uncle's' 'profession' is." He wrapped both words in air quotes.

"Okay. Sure, we can give it our best shot, Freddy. But if we get caught, he might not be too happy."

"Then we'll be even," Seth muttered.

"Guess so." Roman stood up, and Seth stretched his arms out. Roman was confused by the action until he realized Seth wanted a hug.

"Thanks for being so awesome, Roman. I can see what Dean sees in you. Sometimes I hate him for finding you first." Seth chuckled.

Roman chuckled, blushing as he took Seth in a comforting hold. "Well, for better or worse, we're altogether now. I don't plan on letting that change."

"Me neither. For better or worse."


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey guys, here's the next chapter for you. It's time for Dean's meeting with his mysterious uncle, but how much can Roman and Seth really learn about it? Rolleigns friendship development approaching quick, and a look into Seth's past. Enjoy~**

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"Thanks for the ride, guys. I really appreciate it."

"Of course," Roman answered Dean, pulling into the hotel of the parking lot where Dean was meant to meet with "Jeff." "We weren't going to let you walk all that way. You'd freeze to death."

Dean rode shotgun while Seth was alone in the backseat. He sat with his knees pulled against his chest, arms resting atop them. Dean glanced back at him and said, "You still pissed at me?"

Seth cast out a long breath, fogging up the ice-cold window. "I guess not."

"I totally believe it." Dean stretched an arm at an awkward angle behind him and tapped Seth's leg. "Don't worry. Once my uncle takes care of these Wyatt brothers, life will be normal. You, me and Roman can live happily ever after."

"I'll believe it when I see it, Dean." As irked as he came across as, at least he was making eye contact now. "But whenever it _does_ happen, I'll be the happiest guy on the planet."

"I'll tie you for first on that one," Roman said.

Dean zipped up his—Roman's—jacket and put his hand on the door handle. "What are you guys gonna do in the meantime?"

"Dunno," Roman said lightly. Perhaps he should have left it to Seth. He was an awful liar, and his conscience disallowed him to sound any more unvarnished, considering he'd just been upset with Dean for bearing lies. "Maybe…hit up a late-night restaurant. Grab a bite. Something."

"Okay. Just be careful, alright?"

"You too," Seth stated.

"I'll text you when I'm out."

Dean slipped out of the car and let out a howl against the cold wind as he scampered towards the hotel's entrance. Roman half-expected him to slip on ice on his way up. His reckless behavior did assure a certainty of accidents from time to time.

"Wanna park and go inside?" Seth asked. "Should we wait a while?"

"How is this gonna work?" Roman cross-examined. "There's no way we can get closed enough to eavesdrop without getting caught. We're not going to blend in very well. Your hair and my physique make us pretty conspicuous."

Like an instinct, Seth shoved his hair over his face, behind his shoulders. "At this point, I really don't care what they say. Maybe he'll fill us in on that later. I just want to make sure he doesn't hop into a car with this guy and take off. Or leave. Or do something incredibly stupid."

"As he's prone to do," Roman had to agree. He circled the hotel parking lot a couple of times before settling on a spot in the fourth row.

"Exactly," Seth said, undoing his seatbelt. "Let's just sneak inside, make sure he's good, hang back, see what happens. Best case scenario: not a damn thing."

Roman turned the car off. "Okay. I hope he doesn't see us. Might not trust us ever again if he does."

"I think he might be expecting us to do something like this. He knows us as much as we know him."

"Fair enough."

Roman's car thermometer indicated it was sixteen degrees outside. He and Seth stayed close to each other, arms touching, nearly huddling as they scuttled towards the automatic entry doors.

The hotel wasn't fancy. A standard lobby warmed them up inside, complete with a fireplace—turned off for the night—and a sleepy concierge behind a long oak counter. Dean was speaking with her, back turned to the boys. Seth ducked behind a plant. Roman bit back a chuckle. He was across the way from them, so spotting Roman and Seth was unlikely.

"You have a very nice hairdo, Mr. Ficus," Roman whispered.

Seth poked his head between the lengthy, paper-thin leaves of the little tree.

The concierge lifted a corded phone—Roman didn't even think those things existed anymore—and dialed a number. After speaking a few words into the machine, she hung up and waved a hand towards a set of glass doors off to the right, veiled in a white curtain. Roman made out something she said specifically: "He'll be right down. Go ahead and have a seat inside."

Dean thanked her, nodding, and sauntered towards the glass doors. He gave one of them a tug, took a glance behind him—a glance so quick that Roman's heart stopped, then restarted as he realized Dean hadn't even looked his way—and slipped into whatever room the doors were guarding.

Several minutes later, an elevator across from the concierge desk dinged, and the doors pulled open with a groan. A man stepped out, a man who intimidated Roman just _looking_ at him. Long, curly black hair spiraled over his broad shoulders. A long leather jacket and tight pair of jeans failed to obscure the brawn beneath them, nor did the black cowboy-style hat atop his head conceal away his soulless dark eyes, leathery face and grim lips. His hunky boots slapped against the tile floor of the lobby. He lifted a meaty hand to the concierge, who waved back, then the man hauled the glass door open and disappeared behind them.

Roman licked his lips.

"Tell me that's not him," Seth said, stepping out from behind the tree.

"Dunno. Let's go find out."

Roman and Seth approached the glass doors with caution, as though afraid they'd swing open any moment and bash their heads in. Roman used a finger to pull back a bit of the curtain. Seth pressed his view into the room just beneath Roman. The man shook Dean's hand, then pulled him into what looked to be a crushing hug. Dean was smiling, didn't look afraid at all.

"Guess if they were strangers, they wouldn't be hugging like that," Roman noted aloud.

"Probably is family, then," Seth said. "Still. Damn. That guy scares the shit out of me, and I don't even know him."

The room appeared to be a conference area. "Jeff"/Uncle Mark/Uncle "Und" and Dean sat down at one of the long tables across from one another. Dean, facing the general direction of Roman and Seth, meshed his hands on the table and began shooting off a dialogue. A couple of inches to the right and he'd see them for sure.

"Excuse me," came a woman's voice.

Roman and Seth swung around to find the concierge standing behind them, arms folded over her chest like a teacher ready to bust a couple of students for skipping class.

"The conference room is closed for a private meeting," she stated.

"Right, sorry," Roman said, standing up straight. "We know him. Just wanted to make sure he got here safely."

"Sorry," Seth said, wincing.

She lifted an eyebrow, but returned to her post behind the counter, leaving them alone.

"What do we do now?" Seth asked. "Can't go inside. Can't hang around here much longer. She might tell on us."

Roman inspected the entire hotel lobby. Another set of doors caught his eye. Propped up beside the open doors was a sign welcoming hotel guests to the Residence Bar as well as drink specials.

"Excuse me," Roman said, approaching the concierge. "How late is the bar open?"

"Till midnight," she answered.

"Want to wait out in there?" he asked Seth.

"Sure, but should you be drinking, driver?"

"No, of course not. I'll order a club soda or something. But it's better than bumming around here."

"Okay. Sure."

One bartender was working the late-night shift. Roman stayed faithful to his word and ordered a club soda with lime, as tempting as a White Rascal sounded. Seth helped himself to something called "Angry Balls": a blend of cinnamon whisky and crisp apple cider.

"Holy shit," he asked after one drink, putting a fist to his mouth. "That shit packs a punch."

Roman speared the lime in his drink with a straw and swirled it around the bottom of the glass, beneath the floating ice cubes. "Dean doesn't drink much, right?"

"He'll help himself to a drink once in a while. But he's picky. He hates anything too bitter. He's got too big of a sweet tooth for that."

"So I've gathered." Roman took a small sip of the soda. "So…and I'm sorry if this is way too personal to talk about, but hey, we're two dudes drinking in a bar. I think small talk's out."

"Small talk's been out since our lives collided, Ro."

"True." Roman wrapped his massive fingers around the tiny cold glass. "Dean told me you're a three-time college dropout."

"Yes," Seth said slowly. He took another shot of the whiskey/cider combo, and his face twisted at the obscure taste.

"And I remember you telling me it's because you didn't have a real passion for anything in life. And I get that. The whole waste of time, waste of money, I get it. If I hadn't gotten a scholarship to my university and cared as much about health as I did, I bet I'd feel the same way."

"Maybe. You seem to be a really passionate person, Roman. You've got a lot going for you. Me? I never got so lucky." Seth leaned into the bar. "First time I went was for my dad, essentially. It was the norm. Graduate high school, go to college. I wanted to stay at home, I didn't want to leave the state when I didn't even care that much about going to college in the first place. Dad paid for a semester. Tried it. Hated it. Basic classes are so fucking _dull_. All the shit I left behind in high school, I was now relearning in a different facility. So I told him, I want to focus on work for a semester, then think about going back. He didn't like the idea, but he agreed to it. Saved him some money for a few months." He paused for another drink. "Then August came around, and he asked if I was willing to go back yet. Nah, I said, give me another semester. And that turned into another semester, which turned into 'just one more.' A year passed, and he demanded I go back. _Demanded_ I get a degree. Like suddenly I was legally obligated to go back to school. At this point I'd been thinking about getting my own place. I'd been saving up for a while. But I couldn't go to school _and_ live on my own, and I was actually kind of afraid if I didn't go back to school, he could kick me out of the house for 'going nowhere with my life.'"

Roman was baffled by the statement. "You really think he would have kicked you out?"

"Now, no, I don't," he said, shaking his head. "But that was the motivation I used to get my ass back into college. Enrolled for a semester at the community college. Hated it. Quit halfway through the semester. Left for school every day to hang out somewhere else, then came home with a bullshit story about what I learned that day. Don't know why I didn't just suck it up and go, but I _hated_ it. I hated being confined in a room and told what to think, and that everything I was for the benefit of my future. What did they know about my future? What did they know about my life? Since I didn't have that passion, I didn't care about whatever I was learning, and I was _so_ against it."

Seth paused again to order another Angry Balls. Roman would let him drink as much as he wanted to, but if it got excessive, he'd warn Seth to ease off. He didn't want Seth to get blackout drunk. That wasn't a good time for anybody.

"Anyway. Finished off that semester. Failed every class since I quit halfway through. He never found out. It's not like high school where parents get an email if you get an F. I got lucky. I told him I wanted more time to think about what I wanted in life. When the time came again for him to start nagging me about going back, I told him I hated the educational system in this country, and as much as I hated myself for not being a studious little saint like my brother, it didn't change the fact that I hated school. All forms of school. I'd rather teach myself, learn at my own pace, study what _I_ want to study, for _free_. But I was tired of my dad making me feel like shit for quitting college a second time. So I thought, fuck it, and moved out. Lived on my own for a while before I took Dean in. And for a while there, I thought about going back to school. As much as you hate it, you can't help but miss it a little when you're away from it. So I enrolled in just a couple of classes, classes I thought would just be interesting, without a degree in mind just yet. Nope. Still couldn't find any interest in it. But since I paid for those two classes, I felt _really_ obligated to finish them. Didn't pass, but at least I finished."

"Progress," Roman praised.

"So yeah. I'm done with that particular field of life. Ready to move onto better things. Don't know where my life is going from here. With Dean, every day is a new adventure."

"Dangerous adventure."

"Maybe things'll get better," Seth said, sitting up straight.

"Whoa, look at you, sounding all glass-half-full."

Seth grinned deviously as he took down another drink. "It's the alcohol. I'm still the cynical asshole I've always been. Don't be fooled."

"You're not an asshole. And being cynical is just a more practical view on life. As long as you don't approach everything _negatively_ , and rather, realistically, there's nothing wrong with it."

"So I'm a realist. Not a cynic."

"Sure, let's go with that. That sounds a lot less douchy."

"Sorry to be confessing all my problems to you, Roman. You're just a really good listener. I can't talk about this kind of stuff with my parents or my brother, or even Dean. I'm too busy trying to keep Dean's life under control that it's too easy to forget about my own. In a way, I'm lucky I don't have more going on than looking after the kid."

"Seth, he's your best friend. He's not your responsibility. You look after him because you love him, not because you're babysitting him. It's great what you do, but you have to remember to live for yourself once in a while."

Seth nodded. "'s true. I do love him. Just forgot what it's like to have a life of my own. My whole life, I feel I've been living for others."

"Yeah, it's definitely time for you to live for yourself. Doesn't mean you have to be alone. Dean's attached to you, _I'm_ pretty attached to you." Roman had to turn away, pretending to be distracted by something off to the right, so Seth wouldn't catch his cheeks burning red. He hadn't meant it the way it sounded. "We're not going anywhere. You definitely don't have to cater to us."

"Thanks. Means a lot, hearing that. Sometimes I care so much about people that I forget whether or not they care that much about me in return."

Roman turned back. "I care. And Dean cares. Look at what he goes through for us." He referred to their very setting, their current circumstances, with a wave.

"Take the good with the bad, like I've said," Seth muttered. "Just wish he'd stop acting so stupid."

"We still love him."

"We do. I do, and I know you do. Very much." Seth looked up at Roman with weary eyes. He was coming off his buzz already. "I'm glad he's happy with you."

"Thanks. Me too. And hey. That doesn't make you any less important to him. Or me, for that matter."

Seth smiled. "Roman, you gotta stop being such a fucking great guy over here. I'm way not sober, and I don't want to get any feelings for you."

Something tweaked at Roman's heart. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I could always start acting like a total dick. Turn you right the hell off."

"Nah. I prefer good guy Roman. Don't worry. I've way too much respect for you and Dean to ever try anything. Drunk or not."

Now Roman _definitely_ didn't want Seth any more trashed than he already was. Seth finished up his drink, and Roman suggested he take in some water next. He even offered some of his club soda. Seth complied.

Roman's phone buzzed. **Ready when u are. I'll be in the lobby.**

"Shit," Roman said. "Dean's out. Can't sneak out from in here, can we?" His eyes searched for a different exit to the bar.

"It's fine. We can tell him the truth," Seth said. "Besides, he'll wonder where I've been drinking."

"Okay. Sure."

Roman paid for the drinks, helped Seth to his feet, and together they slowly made their way out of the bar. Sure enough, Dean was planted in a chair. He was surprised to see them already in the lobby just seconds after he sent that text.

"You guys hung out here?" he queried.

"Yeah. Figured, not a lot of places around here are gonna be open this time of night. Way too cold to wait in the car, too," Roman babbled on, stopping himself before it sounded like he was covering a worse story.

"Oh. Okay."

"Everything go okay?" Seth asked.

"Oh, yeah." Dean flashed a grin, tongue gliding between his teeth. "Everything went smoothly. My uncle is such a…"

"Good man?" Roman guessed.

"Nope. Hard-worker, we'll say. He said to lay low for a couple weeks, and he'll have them." He punched a cupped palm with the backs of his fingers. "Then life will be normal again."

"Maybe not _normal_ ," Seth groaned. "Not with you."

Dean's smile stretched further. "Okay. Not normal. But one thing is for sure: starting tonight, it's gonna get way fucking better."

* * *

 **Sorry if that chapter was a little slow, but I have SO many ideas - from fluffy to angsty - for where this story is going to go from this point, and I can't wait to share them with y'all! Don't forget to leave a review!**


	26. Chapter 26

**I wanted to take a quick break from my requests to update this fic. It's still my baby, and it deserves attention as well. Get ready for a plethora of fluff as Christmastime draws nearer for our boys. The action lurks just around the corner and could strike at anytime.. But there still exists a moment or two of peace for our heroes. Enjoy!**

* * *

"'Who wrote a paper on evolution in 1858 that forced Darwin to present his own theory shortly thereafter? A, Henslow; B, Huxley; C, Malthus, or D, Wallace.'"

"D, Alfred Wallace," Roman answered without much delay.

"Is that your final answer?" Seth asked, grinning over Roman's flash card.

"Final answer."

"That is correct!"

"Man, if only you were doing this for real money," Dean said, untangling a clump of Christmas lights on the floor. "You'd be banking."

"Where did you guys get all these Christmas decorations, anyway?" Roman asked, lifting a small mechanical snowman from the box Seth had immediately stashed away in Roman's storage closet on the porch when he and Dean first moved in.

"My mom," Seth said. "She buys new ones every year, and she usually donates the old. Last year, we were her charity of choice."

Roman's tiny collection of holiday embellishments combined with the massive box from the closet—from Seth's mom, apparently—would provide a full amount of ornamentation for the entire apartment.

Seth took a sip of his warm tea, then moved onto the next flashcard. He and Dean were just as determined as Roman was to get him prepped for the History of Psychology final the next morning. He squinted at Roman's rather tiny, cursive-style handwriting through his glasses. "'In terms of nature and nurture, Galton supported _blank_ , and Candolle supported _blank_. A, nature and nature; B, nature and nurture; C, nurture and nature; or D, nurture and nurture.'"

"Say that three times fast, Seth, I dare you," Dean said. He wrapped a string of garland loosely around his neck like a scarf.

"Galton supported nature, and Candolle supported nurture. So B. Final answer," Roman stated.

"That is correct!"

Roman unrolled a folded piece of red fabric and found it to be a stocking. Seth's full name and the numbers 1994 were painted in gold down the oversized sock. Beneath the name and year was a tiny handprint, also in gold paint.

"Aww, this is yours, Seth?" he asked, holding up the stocking.

Seth grinned coyly. "Yep, that's mine. Made it when I was four. Kane's might be in there, too."

Sure enough, the next folded stocking that Roman revealed had Kane's name—with a backwards K—painted down the material. It made Roman chuckle to imagine a tiny Seth preparing stockings with his brother, parents watching as amused as ever, perhaps taking pictures and preparing some sort of warm meal afterwards…

Roman blinked, realizing his eyes were dampening, as he perceived Seth was really the only one of the three of them who had a true concept of the word _family_. Roman got along with his family okay, but they were never too close, even in his childhood. Dean…Dean was an entirely different case on his own. Dean probably _never_ knew what the word meant. That, with the word _home_.

Would he ever?

"Alright, focus, Ro," Seth said after another drink of tea. "For Calkins, the proper subject matter of psychology was what? A, the self; B, the mind; C, behavior; D, introspective elementals."

Mary Whiton Calkins became the first female president of the American Philosophical Association in 1918. She'd developed progress in research towards dreams, memory, and perhaps the most famous of her contributions, the system of…

"Self-psychology," Roman said.

"Nope. It was B."

"Shut up."

Seth giggled. "Yeah, you're right, sorry. Shouldn't be trying to mess with your mind right before the big test."

"When's your Badass 204 exam?" Dean asked, unwrapping the garland from his neck and draping it over the mantle instead, behind a couple of half-burned candles.

"Not till Tuesday," Roman said, smiling.

"The—what?" Seth asked.

"Inside joke."

"Yeah, so stay out of it," Dean teased.

Seth placed the flash cards on the side table. "That was the last one, Roman. You got every single one of them right. You're gonna nail this test."

"Thanks for helping me study." Roma put the stockings back in the box. They'd reached the bottom of the container, the last of the decorations. He and Dean reached for a twisted pine wreath at the same time. They playfully pulled it back and forth between one another, simulating a fight, when Roman released it and "let" Dean win.

"You wanna move onto your English exam next, or take a break?"

"I'll take a break. Let my mind cool off first."

Roman's wound was itching, a sign of healing. He decided to change the dressing. Surely he wouldn't have to wear the bandage for much longer. His follow-up appointment with Dr. Jericho was on Friday morning, yet he was feeling better even this evening. But he'd heed the doctor's instructions to dodge an infection or any further damaging injuries.

When he stepped out of the bathroom after changing, he watched Dean carefully backed away from the front door after hanging the wreath on it by an adhesive hook. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he analyzed his work like he was an artist.

"Perfect," he said.

"It's a little crooked," Seth noted.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. You can tell by the lines on the door—it's tilted to the right a bit."

"It's _not_ crooked!"

"Yes, it is."

"You're crooked," Dean accused.

"Says who? You?"

Dean smiled as though he was proud of the fact. Roman cracked up at their inane argument. This caused Dean to look back at him.

"Hey, Ro. Is this thing crooked or not?" he asked.

Roman strolled over to them, draping an arm around both their shoulders from between them. He cocked his head far to the side and said, "It's totally straight, don't know what you're talking about, Seth."

Seth cracked up. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You guys are just haters."

It wasn't awkward as the moment dwindled into quietude. The boys simply watched the wreath, whether or not it was crooked. Roman tightened his hold on Seth and Dean both. Dean leaned his head against Roman.

"Let's make this the best damn Christmas ever," Roman said. "What do you guys say?"

"Yeah," Seth agreed. "No more hospital trips."

"No more nightmares." It was an assurance Roman made on his own behalf.

"And definitely, _definitely_ no more Wyatts," Dean said, voice gorged with confidence.

Roman didn't even want to dispute it.

This was family.

This was home.

He was happy.

* * *

Rarely did colleges shut down for something like a snow day, especially at the dawn of finals week, so Roman bundled up warmly and stepped into the morning, still chilled to the bone through his sweater and heavy coat, yet dominant in the mind and eager to accept the challenges today would bring.

Dean had given him a best-wishes kiss before he trekked out, claiming there was no such thing as luck in the world. Seth declared Roman didn't even _need_ that. He could kick ass all on his own.

Roman was warm at the thought of his friends. His family. Dean and Seth, his treasure and his world.

Part one of the exam was multiple-choice; part two was the last essay he'd ever have to write for this course, and thank heavens, because this professor was a stickler for essays. Everything had to follow his stringent rubric, and there were hundreds of points made available in each paper, which meant a challenge not to miss a single step and bring one's grade from an A to a C- because of only a couple of things missed. This particular professor assumed himself a man of dominance over his fellow professors simply because he had a Ph.D., and made the students address him as "doctor."

Roman stared down at the essay topic.

" _How do psychologists differ from physicists in their examination of stimuli in the environment (as explained by Wundt)_?"

It seemed so easy that even after completing the essay in a little under twenty minutes, Roman read over it five or six times to make sure he'd followed every stipulation, or he'd been tricked in any way. _And now we wait_ , he thought as he placed his exam face-down on his professor's desk.

"Thank you, Roman," Doctor Crane said, offering a warm smile. "Have a safe, fun Christmas break."

"Thanks. You too."

And he was free—to move onto his next exam.

His hand was swollen and cramped by the end of that particular session. Literature of the 19th Century required _two_ essays, which the students could choose for themselves in a list of five selections. Luckily these ones didn't have to be nearly as long, and didn't have a million and one specifications. After a painful spell of scribbling words on symbolism and realism, he was truly free to go.

Phones had to be turned off per campus policy during final exams, and Roman found he had a missed call and three text messages when he powered the device back on. The texts were from Seth; the missed call, from Dolph. He decided to call Dolph back first. Anything that was important enough to be described over the phone rather than a message seemed a bit more urgent.

Dolph answered after two rings. "Hey, Romeo."

"Hey, Dolph, how are you?"

"Hanging in there. Feels like it's been forever since I've seen you, man."

"Yeah, it has been a long time," Roman agreed. "What's up?"

"Word's getting through to all our coworkers, and I wanted to make sure you were kept in the loop. Java Central is reopening this Saturday, and we're all scheduled to work. Curtis is having this huge sale, like half-off all coffees or something."

"Oh, that's gonna be a hell of a reopening."

"I know. Can you imagine the business? It's going to be insane. But it'll be over in a flash. And you can invite your boy in for all the mochas he wants. You _are_ still with him, right?"

"I am. He makes me very happy."

"Alright, Roman! My man. 'Bout time you got over that bitch AJ. Oh, sorry to bring her up. Just keep focusing on Dean."

Roman chuckled. Dolph clearly didn't know he'd gotten shot, since he was not panicking nor asking Roman how he was healing. Roman didn't feel it necessary to address now. No sense in making Dolph worry over nothing. "I will, for sure."

"I'll let you go for now, but see you Saturday?"

"See you Saturday, Dolph."

Roman was in the safety of his freezing car by the time he hung up with Dolph and read over Seth's messages.

 **Got off work early. Turns out nobody likes getting their tires fixed when it's friggin cold outside. :P Was thinking about going and picking up Dean's gift before we run out of time, u down ?**

 **I'm dropping Dean off downtown in a lil. Get this: he's actually looking for job applications to fill out. I told him to wait until the weather cleared but he insisted. Doesn't wanna wait long so he'll have money for Christmas. Don't worry, he'll be fine, and if it's me saying it, u know I'm telling the truth. :P It'll only be an hour or so.**

 **Ur probably still taking ur tests huh? Sorry if I get u kicked out for these. Just dropped Dean off and I'm heading over to Guitar Center. U know where it's at? Over by Olive Garden and that old Blockbuster. Remember when Blockbuster was a thing? Stupid Netflix. Anyway call me when ur out and we can plan something.**

Roman liked how he could read each message in Seth's voice, almost like he could hear Seth speaking the words to him in his mind. Seth was something else. He was also glad to see Dean reaching out to get a steady job. He couldn't rely on money he'd stolen from Bray Wyatt forever.

Roman started up the engine and cranked the heater on. He made the call before driving off.

"Hey, Roman."

"Hey, Seth. Busy morning?"

"I've had worse. This weather isn't doing me any favors, though. How were your exams?"

"Long and tiring but they're _over_."

"Woohoo!" Roman laughed at Seth's excited squeals. "We'll get you all prepped for your next ones tonight. Then we can celebrate the end of the semester with a drink or something."

"That sounds like a plan. Are you at Guitar Center now?"

"Yeah, I'm almost there. Driving about thirty-five on a fifty-five."

"You're talking on the phone while driving? Hang up right now, young man. I'd expect this behavior out of Dean, but not you."

"Yeah, yeah, alright. And I wouldn't expect it out of Dean, anyway, considering he can't drive."

"He can't?"

"I don't know if he's physically unable or if he's just never tried it, or if he doesn't like it or care to learn at all. But I've never witnessed him getting behind the wheel of a vehicle."

"Huh."

"Yeah, another little tidbit about our Dean Ambrose."

"He always manages to surprise me each and every day."

"Shit, someone's fishtailing in front of me. Better go."

"Take it _easy_ ," Roman warned him. "I'll meet you up there in about fifteen. Well, might take me a little longer because of the roads."

"Sounds good, Ro."

* * *

Roman found an available parking spot near Seth's Camaro and cautiously steered his vehicle to a halt beside it. He darted from the warmth of his car into the small guitar store. Seth was at the counter, speaking to the sales associate. Both of them looked to Roman as he pushed a cold draft into the store with him.

"Hey, Roman, glad you made it."

"Same here. What's going on?"

"Well, Damien here was just showing me some of the bestsellers they have in the store right now."

Roman and Seth were the only customers in the shop, so Damien stuck with them, revealing the best-priced guitars and the store's most popular brands. Neither Seth nor Roman were as concerned about price as they were about quality. They wanted Dean to have a beautiful guitar, not as a replacement for Annie, but as something that could help heal him and disallow him to forget about his dream to be a musician for life or set it aside for a little while.

Roman was a bit indecisive, and Seth was torn between two: a Yamaha FS700S, and a Fender DG-60.

"The Fender looks a little too much like Annie," Roman pointed out. "I wouldn't want him to get upset."

"Yeah, you're right," Seth said with a nod. "You like the Yamaha?" He ran a gentle hand over the body of the acoustic guitar.

"I do. And I'm sure Dean will love it."

"He'll love whatever we get him. I like the color, too." The guitar was a deep reddish-brown as though it had been burnt by fire, fading to a paler brown in the center.

"We call it tobacco sunburst," Damien said.

Seth snickered. "He'll get a kick out of that one. Okay, we'll take this one. Oh," he said, looking to Roman. "We should probably invest in a new case, too. Not sure what…happened to the other one."

"Oh, yeah. That's a good point…"

A brief look at the guitar cases turned into adding a capo, a tuner, a strap with a strap lock, a guitar stand, a set of picks, _and_ a set of cleaning and polishing cloths in addition to the sturdy case Roman chose and, of course, the guitar. The price of the items together combined to roughly a thirty-dollar tax came to $431.62.

"Damn, I'm gonna be paying this off until next Christmas," Roman teased. He knew that wasn't the case. This was why his savings account existed; plus, he never spent money on much anyway, besides groceries and the occasional new shirt and comic from Escape Velocity.

Seth surrendered his credit card to pay half of the total. "This is what Christmas is all about, right? Going broke over your loved ones."

"That is true," Roman had to agree.

Damien was kind and helped Seth settle the new guitar into its new case, then carried some of the bags out to Seth's car. Seth ever so gently set the guitar case in his trunk.

"I'll take all this back home and hide it away in my closet or something," he said. "If you wanna go pick up Dean. Then he won't see anything."

"Good idea."

"Take your time. Be careful. No rush."

Roman grinned. "No worries there. It's nearing rush hour, anyway. Rush hour plus a snowstorm equals severe lack of driving skills."

"Maybe they should consider changing the name from 'rush hour' to something more appropriate."

"We'll discuss that very important issue when we get home. Get out of the cold."

"Fine. You do the same."

* * *

It didn't take long for Roman to make it downtown from Guitar Center, even in the storm. He hopped onto Platte Avenue instead of opting for the freeway, which somehow would be even slower than the street that kept at fifty MPH all the way down. He'd let Dean know through a text he was on his way to pick him up. Dean messaged him back requesting a lift in front of Escape Velocity.

 _Escape Velocity? Really_?

Roman pulled up to the little comic book store, wishing he had the time to go inside and talk to Cody and Neville. Dean, dressed up in an oversized black hoodie, scurried into the car. He shook snowflakes out of his long hair and breathed as though tired, "What's up, Ro?" He leaned in for a quick kiss. Dean's lips were freezing against Roman's.

"Nothing much. Trying to make it out here."

Was that Seth's hoodie Dean was wearing? Roman bit back a jealous comment.

"How went the job search?" Roman noticed a lack of applications in Dean's possession.

"It went okay. Got a couple of applications here and there. Lot of people weren't hiring. Some told me to check online, and I'm like, 'Yeah, okay, I'll just grab my Macbook Pro and open it up real fast…'" He shook his head, as though access to a computer was an impossible feat for him. "But, I decided to stop into that store you like so much. Turns out, they _are_ hiring. I filled out an application on the spot and just talked with them for a while. They remembered me from that time I bought you your stuff."

Roman lifted a hand from the steering wheel for a brief moment to fondle his Superman pendant.

"And guess what?"

"Do tell."

"I got an interview!"

Roman gasped. "At Escape Velocity? Are you serious?"

"Yeah! I thought I'd have to be as big of a geek as you to even qualify, but turns out I knew as much as they need me to know. Their big bossman is gonna be in on Friday, so I'm swinging by in the morning for questioning."

"Dean, that's fantastic. I'm actually really jealous of you."

"Yeah, it seems like it'd be your dream job, right? How come you don't work there? You practically lived there before you had to start taking care of me all the time."

"First of all, I'm more than happy to 'take care of you.' Secondly, as much as it can stress me out sometimes—and on occasion, get me shot—" Roman paused to smile, letting Dean know it was all in the past, something he wouldn't get anxious over, "I also love it. Best job I ever had. Well, _only_ job I ever had, but some things made it worthwhile to stick around."

"Like me?" Dean asked, a smile touching his soft lips.

Roman laid a hand on Dean's knee, giving it a rub. "Like you," he answered softly.


	27. Chapter 27

**Hey, guys! For those of you who weren't aware of this, I started a new job this week, and it's kept me from writing a lot. D: But I'm back again, and I hope the length of this chapter makes up for my brief absence. It's got a lot of fluff, a lot of character interaction, a lot of warmth and fuzzy feels...but enjoy it while it lasts...for the action shall return soon. Till then...enjoy. :)**

* * *

Roman was healing nicely. The doctor could find no evidence of complications in the remedial process, although he warned Roman scarring was a strong possibility. Roman wasn't concerned by that. Perhaps the mended lesion would make him look badass, function as an inkless tattoo, an emblem to demonstrate just how much he'd been through in his young life, and how he wasn't close to done living through it.

His appointment was over even before Dean's interview started at Escape Velocity, which Seth transported him to so Roman wouldn't risk being late for his Microbiology exam. The timing was perfect; it gave Roman a good hour or two at home by himself, where he concentrated on Dean's second—and third—and fourth—Christmas presents.

Annie, or what was left of her, hadn't been thrown away. Instead Seth had harvested her broken carcass and placed the shards in a trash bag, tying it in a knot and hiding it away in the storage closet until Dean was ready to give her up. Thanks to Roman's plan, he'd never have to. She wasn't going to go to waste. She'd be with Dean in various forms now.

One of Roman's gift ideas was knifing out a piece of Annie's body and carving it into the shape of a guitar pick, something Dean could use with his other picks on the new instrument. Trying to form the shape of a pick was more difficult than Roman first guessed. He used his pocket knife three or four times to fashion the perfect pick, but it refused to come out right. Realizing perfection was impossible, and understanding Dean would probably appreciate the pick no matter how it looked—and perhaps appreciate all the more that it was imperfect, just like Roman, just like himself—his fifth and final attempt cutting a pick out of the wood looked more like an arrowhead. Dean would love it.

Roman tucked the pick away in a desk drawer, beneath a stack of papers that surely Dean wouldn't sift through in his own strange curiosity. His other ideas would take more time, more effort, a bit more creativity and just the right tools. He'd have to work on those later, past the hour of his test, finding another time when Dean wasn't home.

The weather was merciful today, cold but a lack of snow in the air. He drove himself to campus for his only test of the day, his _final_ final exam. Easy, mundane yet painless. Questions like " _Which of the following microorganisms are not matched correctly with the appropriate isolation media_?" and " _Which of the following is not true concerning Staphylococcus aureus_?" didn't intimidate him. He placed the exam face-down on his professor's desk and pushed out of the classroom, proud of himself. Another semester down. It hadn't been easy.

In fact, how complicated it had been, in ways that didn't even relate to school.

Roman stopped by the University Center for a cup of coffee from the cafe on the first floor. It didn't taste nearly as good as anything he sold at Java Central, but it was his cheapest option in the vicinity. He waited in a ridiculously slow line and received his order a little over fifteen minutes later. Every student on campus was taking advantage of the last day the cafe would be open.

"Yo, Reigns."

Roman turned around, steaming cup in hand, and caught Randy sitting at a corner table, bulky textbook open in front of him, tiny table holding the book as well as his own cup of joe. He waved Roman over.

"Hey," Roman said, pleased to see Randy again. Every day without him felt lonely, the more he thought about it. "How's it going?"

"Just getting ready for Internet Marketing. Can't wait to be done with this class, bro. It's so friggin' _boring_."

" _Sounds_ boring," Roman agreed, smiling. Especially for Randy. Internet Marketing seemed like a bold choice on his part.

"Have a seat, dude." Randy gestured to the empty chair across from him. "It's been a while. How's your neck?"

Instinctively Roman's hand moved to the area, but without a bandage, he didn't want to pass on any germs or undo any healing procedures with too much touch. "It's alright."

"Looks a little better," Randy said, though he might have been lying. The area was still blotchy, evidence of an abrasion perceptible. The better it got, the more it itched, and it took a miraculous sense of self-control for Roman not to tear at it with his growing fingernails. "You don't look like a wounded soldier from the 40's anymore, with that huge piece of gauze taped to your neck."

"Think it makes me look pretty tough."

"Of course it does!" Randy agreed. "If anyone asks you about it, just tell them they should see the other guy." Randy laughed. It quieted to a more somber matter, one he'd inadvertently touched upon with his words. "How's home life? Everything…okay there?"

"Yeah. Things are okay. Safe, at least they _have_ been. Dean said he's got someone on the case, after the guys who've been targeting him, so."

"Any progress there?"

"Not sure. I haven't heard from the guy. If Dean has, he hasn't said anything to me." It would be both unlike Dean to keep Roman updated on his uncle's "investigation", whatever it consisted of, unless Dean was sure the job was done, the trouble over. Even then, that would just be a lucky guess.

"Who is it? Private detective or something?"

"Nah. Dean hates cops. Apparently it's a family member who knows what he's doing. Can't do much except wait and see what happens next."

"Kinda nerve-wracking, if you ask me."

"Yeah." Roman couldn't have agreed more, though lately with how peaceful the days had passed, without a call or even a trace of the Wyatts still around, it had been easier and easier to believe that Dean had finally managed to handle them, whether directly or indirectly.

"How is he?"

"Dean?"

"No, the other crazy guy you're dating."

Roman smirked. "He's doing well. He actually has a potential job at Escape Velocity."

"Where?"

Roman sipped his coffee. Black, bitter, sugar free. Just how he liked it. "The comic book store."

"Oh yeah, your home away from home. That's pretty cool. Hope he gets it. Seems like he needs to find _some_ form of normalcy in his life."

"He does," Roman concurred.

"Hey, if things have been kinda quiet for a while, mind if I swing by tonight after my tests? I have something for you."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Maybe I should have counted on seeing you here today, but I didn't think about it. Finals have been stressing me to the max. But yeah, I wanted to give it to you before I left tomorrow."

"Ah. Going home for the holidays?"

"Yep. Not coming back until January third or so. Wanna stay for New Year's, now that I can. Made a lot of sacrifices to get that much time off work, but I miss my family. Wanna see them for _longer_ than a week this time."

"I understand. Sure, come on by if you want. I'll let Seth and Dean know. Maybe we can whip up something fancy for dinner."

"Define 'fancy.'"

"What about roasted chicken with potatoes and butternut squash?"

Randy's hand froze on its way to pour more coffee into his mouth from the cup in hand. "Damn, that _does_ sound fancy," he laughed.

"Seth made it last night. We have a lot leftover."

"Leftovers, frozen dinner, something hot from the oven. As long as it's food, I don't care. I'm there."

"Alright, sounds good."

"I'll see you tonight, buddy."

Roman took the subtle, polite hint to leave Randy be for now, to let him study. Or, stare at the pages of his textbook helplessly, blank expression, until he thought he had enough (falsely) figured out to squeak by on the exam with a C-.

He had a text waiting for him after the conversation. **GOT THE JOB! dancing on the street. not really but i totally could if i wanted to. seth had to go to work but ill wait downtown for my ride. wish i had my fucking guitar so i could earn some tips. maybe someone i know will be playing on the corner. i dont have money anymore so ill tip with a hug or something.**

Roman had two things to say in response to Dean's message: **Be careful love. I'll see you soon.**

He ended up driving past Dean, who was sure enough conversing with a street musician on the corner of a busy intersection. Roman pulled to the side of the road, not intending to pay for a sixty-second-long parking job. Dean caught his eyes, offered the musician a fist-bump, then loped towards the Civic.

"What's good, Ro?" Dean asked.

"Done with my college semester," Roman said.

"Woo!" Dean threw his arms in the air. "Good day all around. Let's go get lunch to celebrate. You're buying."

"Whoa, whoa, why am _I_ buying?" Roman teased, watching Dean saunter around the car. He would have anyway, even if Dean had money.

"I told you, I'm broke as a joke now." Dean and Roman pulled the car doors shut behind them, and Roman waited patiently for the light behind him to turn red, blocking cars from his way to merge.

"What happened to all the money you stole from Bray Wyatt? Gone already?"

"Yeah, between paying my uncle for his job and the lease break from the old place, and rent I owe Seth who owes _you_ , I'm kind of lost financially. For the first time in about a year. I'm used to having little to no money all the time, but right now, that won't do me much good. It's Christmastime. I needed a job. I need to buy presents."

"You don't _need_ to buy presents for anyone, but I'm really happy that you got the job at Escape Velocity."

"Oh, me too. The interview was fucking cake. As someone who's never worked a day in his life—well, America's definition of 'work', anyway—I think I did pretty okay with them."

"You've never had a job before?"

"Well." Dean's fingers drummed on his knees. Roman noticed small holes developing in each of them. Were those the only jeans he owned? _Add something else to his gift list_ , he told himself. "I worked at a Taco Bell back in Cali for a couple months, but it sucked ass. Place was sketchy. Owner was a meth addict. Didn't work out for me. Left that part off my application, out of the interview."

"Guess I don't blame you. When do you start?"

"Monday. First paycheck should come two days before Christmas. Won't be big, but it's something. Guess I'll just make Seth buy all your presents from me, and then I'll pay him back when I have the cash."

"Like I said, you don't have to get me anything."

"Like _I_ said, bite me and let me treat you, alright? I love you, and you deserve a damn good present from me. First Christmas as boyfriend and…boyfriend. You deserve it. Especially with all the shit you put up with around me."

Each word was a candle lit against Roman's heart. He was melting in his seat. "I love you, Ambrose."

"Love you too, Romie Ro."

"Where do you want to get lunch?"

They settled on a burger place close to home. Roman didn't want to fill up too much just yet, with Randy planning on coming for dinner. When Roman informed Dean they'd be having a guest, Dean insisted on tidying up again as a favor to both Roman and Randy. It wasn't baffling, how messy the place could get with three guys living in such a cramped environment, no matter how neat each guy was.

Seth closed at work, so he wasn't home before there was a knock on the door. Roman tugged the door open, leaving Dean in the kitchen to tend to the heating leftovers. Randy, bundled up warm against the brisk early night winds, cleared his throat.

" _It's the most wonderful time of the year, with the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you, be of good cheer_ —"

Roman cracked up, unable to help himself. Randy Orton was caroling to him.

Randy broke out of the song and said, "Shut up, this is super serious, Roman. I worked up a lot of courage to do this for you."

"Okay. Go ahead," Roman said, biting down on his still smiling lips to keep from giggling.

Randy sighed and continued, smiling on his own through it all. " _It's the most wonderful time of the year. It's the hap-happiest season of all. With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings when friends come to call. It's the hap-happiest season of all. There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, and caroling out in the snow."_ His voice picked up speed, hurrying through the lyrics as a gust of wind smacked his face. " _There'll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago_ …okay, let me in, I'm freezing my ass off."

Roman clapped, laughing, holding the door open for his old roommate. "That was beautiful, Randy. Wish you'd let me record it."

"The hell you would have. I'd have made you eat that phone before you managed to post anything online."

"I wouldn't have posted it online." Roman pressed the door closed, locking it securely.

"Don't lie to me." Randy snickered. His head turned like that of an owl as he studied his somewhat unfamiliar surroundings. "Wow, you got the place all decorated up. Looks nice. Forgot we had all that shit."

Dean greeted Randy in the kitchen. "Welcome back. Good to see you."

"Hey, Dean. Glad to see you're doing well."

"Oh, I'm excellent. And may I say, you have an excellent singing voice."

"Well, thanks. So do you, from what I've heard."

"I'll let you hear a song sometime. As soon as I'm no longer _sans_ guitar."

"Maybe someday," Roman said. He was squealing on the inside from how anxious and excited he was to hand Dean's new guitar over to him on Christmas morning. The wait was torture.

"Yeah, of course someday. Tomorrow might be one of my first trips to J/C without a guitar case in hand."

"J/C? It's open again?" Randy looked to Roman for confirmation.

"Grand reopening is tomorrow. You should swing by."

Randy pulled air through his teeth. "Wish I could, but my flight's in the morning. That's why I wanted to see you tonight. Oh! Yeah, and to give you this." He shook his black coat off, flinging it towards the front door. Underneath the thick fabric was a neatly-wrapped golden gift.

"Wow, you did this yourself?" Roman asked, admiring his wrapping skills. He sucked at the task.

"Yeah. One of my weird-ass random skills. I'm a great wrapper."

"But are you a great rapper?" Dean queried. "That's the important question."

Randy scoffed. "Hell no. I can rhyme like a boss, but I ain't Eminem over here. The fat cat sat on the mat."

"Word," Roman laughed.

A buzz filled the quiet kitchen. Dean reached for his phone, the device responsible for the noise. He blinked at the screen, as if learning some intriguing information—or, was about to. "Hold up," he said, an Ambrose's way of saying _excuse me_. He disappeared into Roman's bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Roman, not bothering to question him about it quite yet, peeled back the wrapping paper. The box beneath the paper gave no indication as to what was inside. It took prying the cardboard parcel open to reveal the gift. A replica Captain America jacket swathed in shrink wrap. Roman's mouth dropped open as he lifted the bundled—and most likely costly—attire.

"You like it?" Randy asked.

"I do!" Roman said, wringing his fingers through the plastic to open up the jacket in full.

"I didn't know how much you liked Captain America. I knew you're a Marvel guy, so this really isn't going wrong."

"Not at all. This is awesome." Roman unfolded the material and held it against his chest. It would look great on him. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, buddy. Merry Christmas and all that."

"Your present will be here…when you get back," Roman said, grimacing. _How come I haven't gotten him anything yet? I suck as a friend to, like, one of my only friends in the world_.

"I'll gladly take it whenever, Roman. I'm in no rush."

Roman unzipped the synthetic leather jacket and pulled it on. It was a good fit, perhaps a bit snug but only because of the size of his muscles. It wasn't uncomfortable or too tight.

"Lookin' good, stud," Randy praised. "Now you're officially the most badass geek in the universe. And beyond."

"Beyond the universe? Scary thing to think about."

Dean returned from the bedroom with an untroubled face.

"Everything good?" Roman asked.

"Yeah. That was my uncle. He said he had a 'solid lead' on the Wyatts."

"That sounds good to me. Anything else?"

"He couldn't say much. Told me to watch my ass, and for you to watch yours. Just in case."

"When do I ever not?"

"Exactly. I said you, me, and Seth take pretty good care of each other. Ain't nothing else happening to us, that's for true."

"Every time you say that, something else happens. So let's just believe it without speaking any contradictions into the universe."

Dean's eyes lifted to the ceiling. "Suck my ass, universe, and side with me for once. No more Wyatts. No more bullshit."

"You tell the universe to suck your ass, then to back you up in life?" Randy asked. "Universe has a conflict of interest going on."

"I decide for myself what's out there for me. Whatever happens, happens if _I_ allow it to or not."

Randy sniped Roman with a bemused look, one Roman perhaps exhibited several times in his first few interactions with Dean Ambrose. Roman dismissed it with the shrug of one shoulder.

"That's a sick jacket, Ro," Dean said, disbanding the uneasy instant.

Roman beamed, and flexed his arms in the material. "Thanks. Randy got it for me."

"Christmas gift," Randy said, stating the obvious.

"Oh." Dean pursed his lips, eyes darting back and forth from Roman—specifically the jacket—to Randy. _Aww, is he jealous_? Roman wondered inwardly.

"Show him what I got you," Dean urged.

 _Think he is_. Roman held up the watch on his right wrist and upheld the Superman pendent in his left hand. "He got me these."

"Nice," Randy said.

"Just because," Dean mentioned.

"Oh, yeah, Superman is your favorite, huh? Give me the jacket back and I'll return it for that guy."

"Nah, he looks good in that one," Dean interjected, stepping to Roman's side as though the motion was unintentional. "Good gift, Randy." He clapped his hands together. "So. Let's eat."

"Smells delicious," Randy stated.

"We're not gonna wait for Seth?" Roman inquired.

"He's a big boy," Dean answered. "He can figure out how to heat up his own food using the microwave."

Roman, Dean and Randy ate the leftover potatoes, chicken and vegetables in the living room in front of an episode of _Family Feud_. It was the only thing that sounded semi-interesting to watch during the meal after Dean and Randy both scoffed at Roman's suggestion of _Jeopardy_!

"Name something a man might refer to as his baby," the host read.

"His car," Randy and Roman said in unison.

"His guitar," Dean said. Roman was surprised at the answer, and a little pained on Dean's behalf. "Won't be up there, but that's what I'd say."

Car was the number one answer, followed by wife in second and motorcycle as answer number four.

"What about his actual baby?" Randy asked. "Like, his son or daughter."

"That's taking it way too literally, man," Dean said.

Yet after a woman correctly guessed "pet" as an answer, the next contestant suggested "his actual child", and the answer appeared as the final answer on the board. Randy laughed at the fact he'd been right, and Dean swatted at his arm.

"It was still _last_ ," Dean pointed out.

"Was still up there. Not like yours was."

"I _said_ mine wouldn't be up there. My guitar _was_ my baby."

Randy clicked his tongue. "Yeah. I bet she was. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"It's all good," Dean said without smiling.

During the commercial break, the doorknob jiggled as a key twisted inside it. Seth pushed the door open and trudged inside, muffled in a large coat and scarf.

"Hi, honey, welcome home!" Dean called.

"How was work?" Roman asked.

Seth disrobed of his winter attire, hanging up the coat and scarf in the closet and setting his wet, dirty boots on the floor. Roman could very much appreciate how orderly he was. He even hung up Randy's coat without fully registering Randy's presence initially.

"We were slammed. First day without snow in a while, so half of Colorado woke up and realized they probably need stronger tires to make it through the winter. Got out forty-five minutes _after_ we were supposed to close, and took us forever to close as usual."

"There's some lukewarm food waiting for you on the stove."

"Wow, you didn't have a hot meal waiting for me when I came home nearly an hour later? Rude." Seth went to his room first to change from his dirty work clothes to a pair of sweats, Chicago Bears pullover hoodie, and thick socks. He also removed his contacts and wore his glasses in place of them. He looked cozier now, more comfortable, far warmer. Adorable.

Seth made himself a plate, then acknowledged Randy at last in the living room with a fist bump. "Hey, Randy, good to see you again."

"What's going on?" Randy asked.

"Same old, same old. Working hard and trying to keep myself alive."

"Taking life day by day?"

"That's a good way to start."

The show returned.

"Fill in the black," Steve Harvey said to the waiting contestants. "Most people who live in Beverly Hills have a really big what?"

"Dick!" Dean shouted over the ring of the faster contestant's button.

Roman nearly choked on his water. "Seriously?"

"Nah, that can't be true," Randy said. "'That's why they have to have big houses, big cars, a ton of money. Compensate for their _tiny_ dicks."

"You implying that everyone who's rich has a tiny penis?"

"Why the fuck is this conversation going on in my house?" Roman blurted, howling laughter. "Too much testosterone in this room to be talking about dicks."

"Actually, how much testosterone is in the room _justifies_ talking about dicks," Dean said. "Since, y'know, that steroid hormone is produced in the testes."

"Look at you, Anatomy pro," Randy said.

"Sixth grade health, actually. Anatomy sounds way too complicated for this bloke."

"I hear that."

"You know what I can't hear? The real answers to this question," Seth said, shaking his head, mane swaying in the progress.

Dean and Randy muffled their childish snickering. "Bank account", "house", and "car" had made it onto the board as top answers. When one competitor guessed "airplane", Dean hurled a piece of chicken at the TV.

"Way to blow it for your whole family with that stupid answer," he said. "Your answer was bad and you should feel bad."

Sure enough, the answer was rejected, and the host moved onto the next family. They answered correctly to win the game.

Roman picked up dishes and delivered them to the sink during the Fast Money. Seth offered to help while Dean and Randy remained on the couch. He could still hear the TV—and Dean's given answers—over the streaming sink.

"Tell me the age when a kid might try to sneak into an R-rated movie."

"Nine. That was my first attempt."

"Name something you need to play 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey.'"

"An ass."

"Name a command you'd hear in a military parade."

"'Put your clothes back on, private! The fuck are you doing?!'"

"Name something you take to the beach that might blow away."

"My blow-up doll."

"Name something a cowboy wears that's made of leather."

"Corset."

"That didn't even make sense," Randy stated.

"Were any of mine supposed to?"

Roman had to drop to his knees and put his head against the counter as he laughed at Dean's insanity, lest he collapse onto the kitchen floor and crack his head open on the tile.

"Surprised none of yours were the number one answer, Ambrose," Seth said at the end of the episode.

"Seriously!" Dean cried. "At least my _ass_ one made sense! How can you play pin a tail on an ass without an ass?"

Randy couldn't stay for the next episode to play. He had some packing to do before a long day of traveling ahead.

Roman gave him a tight hug at the door before they parted. It lasted several seconds, and Roman loved each one. He missed Randy. He cared so much for his old friend. Even if they had little in common, even if they'd been more roommates than actual comrades, Randy was still one soul of billions in the world who actually gave a damn about Roman. Who bought him an expensive jacket in Roman's nerdy taste. Who dropped by to say goodbye before a trip home.

Randy cared.

And Roman had never learned to appreciate it until now.

"Text me when you're back," Roman said. "We can get together and chill again or something."

"Yeah, definitely," Randy responded, patting Roman on the shoulder. "Think Nikki was interested in seeing us again, too."

Roman made a face, giving Randy a direct reaction to that particular fact.

"Should I tell her about you and Dean? Might make her back off a bit," he proposed.

"I don't know, maybe. I feel if she really, truly can't give it up—especially when she can have someone like you"—Randy smiled proudly at this declaration—"then I won't have a choice but to let her know. But I'd rather it come from me."

"Understandable. It's your business, buddy, and even if it's not my own, I respect it, and I support you guys all the way."

As if following directions from a cue card, Dean strode to Roman's side and braided his own fingers into Roman's.

"Keep looking after one another. You guys deserve each other." Randy's kind eyes went above their heads, to Seth behind them. "And look after him, too. Different kind of love, but equally real."

"Amazing how well you understand us without really knowing it."

"I'm starting to know it, Roman. It's different. It's nothing I'm used to myself." He touched a hand to his chest. "But it's so real, and it's so good. Don't ever let it go. Okay? No matter what."

Randy, who'd rightfully and logically ran at the thought of danger, was offering something of a blessing to Roman and Dean—and Seth—no matter what this situation held for them in the given future. Roman appreciated him even _more_ now. He missed Randy even with Randy standing before him.

Roman opened his arms for another hug. He couldn't resist. "Thanks, brother."

"You're welcome, brother."

It had a nice ring to it.

Dean moved between them, giving a hug of his own. "Thanks for being cool, Randy. Glad you can start to see the light, too."

"Yeah. It's harder to see on some days."

"Those are the days we try a little harder to see it."

Randy smiled. "See you guys. I'll let you know when I'm home."

"Later, dude," Dean said.

"Have a safe trip," Seth said.

"Bye, Randy."

 _Goodbyes suck a bigger dick than Dean claims the people in Beverly Hills have_.

After Randy left—and Roman immediately locked the door, he turned to Seth and Dean. They watched him watch them. Roman loved the hell out of both of them, so goddamn much, he couldn't believe he had the whole world right here in his living room.

"Did you tell Seth the news from your uncle?" Roman quizzed.

"Oh, yeah. Uncle Mark said he's moving in on them. He's got a lead."

"What does that mean?"

"Means this is gonna be over before we know it. Maybe even before Christmas!" Dean thrust his arms into the air, triumphant already in his own little loony world. "Best present ever."

Christmas was a season of hope. Some days Roman clung to hope like a life raft on a rickety sea. Today it was not a cling, it was a possession. He sailed on those seas, the captain of his own ship. And he was not alone. Seth and Dean were their to conquer the ocean with him.

If life got worse, if a storm rolled in, they'd be ready.

It didn't seem so difficult to see the light in this moment. In this day. This evening in his world, _with_ his world.

* * *

 **So, what did you guys think? :) I was going to include the reopening of Java Central in this chapter, but I didn't want this to go on and on forever and ever, so that will be included in the next chapter...including a scene and ending you won't want to miss. Like I said, the action and angst just had to return at some point, right? ;) Reviews = LOVE!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hey, guys. With my one day off this week, I decided to honor myself and my readers with another update to this story. You're in for a treat, my lovelies. You learn a lot in this chapter, a bit more about Dean's past and the history of his mysterious uncle, with an ending that was both adverse and fun to write. Enjoy~**

* * *

Roman was awake even earlier than Seth for once. He had the opening shift at Java Central, and he had to be on the clock at five-fifteen for the shop's opening for business at six AM. At least he would be off early in the afternoon, assuming it wasn't so busy that his boss required him to stay past his scheduled eight-hours. Already he was missing Dean, missing Seth, missing the cozy apartment with his big comforter and fireplace and movie collection and assortment of snacks in the pantry to munch on while watching said movie collection in the living room in front of said fireplace, with said Seth and Dean.

The little things in life meant the most. Roman counted himself blessed that he was able to appreciate them.

At the same time, he was thrilled to be going to work again. The paycheck was preeminent in his living situation. He'd also grown to miss Dolph, and even Curtis once or twice in the forced leave. The coffeehouse was special to him. A great majority of his live stemmed from the facility.

Roman blinked away exhaustion as he swung his Civic into an empty spot in designated the employee parking row. Dolph's car was a couple of spots away from his. He was astounded to see a disorganized formation of enthusiastic and shivering patrons gathered in front of the doors. Word must have spread fast about the reopening. The window was fixed as though never damaged in its life, and balloons were tied outside with a chalk sign welcoming guests back to Java Central. Roman actually had to jostle through the mass to reach the entrance. He used his key to gain access inside, pulled through the narrow opening he allowed for himself, then relocked the door behind him. He felt like an apocalypse survivor trying to hold off a horde of zombies. Curtis was behind the counter, thumbing through a wad of one-dollar bills.

"What are all these people doing here?" Roman asked Curtis, jerking a thumb towards the door.

"They're excited for us!" the manager exclaimed. He'd obviously had three times his regular morning coffee intake this morning. "And I am, too. Welcome back, Roman. It's good to see you. Are you doing better? How's your wound?"

Roman grinned. Curtis was fidgety. Roman nearly offered to count the cash register for him so he could concentrate on other tasks, spend a bit of his energy by walking around, but he wasn't allowed as a regular employee to perform manager tasks. "It's better. Thanks."

Curtis pushed out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Don't know what I would have done today without your help, Roman. You're the best I've got."

Dolph appeared from the back of the shop. "Thanks, Curtis, heard that loud and clear."

"Oh, come on, Ziggler. You know I appreciate you both as workers very much. Why do you think you're here this morning? Wouldn't trust the opening shift on the grand reopening with anyone else!"

Curtis pushed past Dolph and rounded the corner into his office.

"Did you spike his coffee with Red Bull?" Roman snickered.

"Nah. He did that himself."

Roman kept laughing, but Dolph didn't look too thrilled right now. Nobody Roman knew was a "morning person", Dolph included, but his blond coworker didn't just look tired—he looked drained, depressed, weary in more ways than just physical.

"You okay, man? You look like hell. I mean, no offense…"

"Nah." Dolph lifted a hand to let Roman know he wasn't insulted. "Feel about as good as I look." He smiled grimly.

"What's wrong?" Roman didn't want to nag, but Dolph had been there for him a time or two before, even offering money and a shoulder to cry on during one of Roman's bad days. He wanted to extend the same affinity if Dolph needed him.

"Lana and I broke up," Dolph said softly.

"Oh." Roman ignored the crowd, all tasks of the morning, and approached Dolph to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "That's rough, bro. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. I don't know, she was giving me all this shit for being in contact with my ex, then…" He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking directly at Roman. "Runs back to hers the minute he starts sweet-talking her again. Didn't even give me a chance to work on things that I didn't even _know_ were wrong."

"What a bitch."

"That's what I keep telling myself. I love her, though. Still do."

"You'll get over it. I know it's hard to believe now, but time _does_ heal all wounds. You'll make it through this alright."

Dolph finally elevated his sad look to Roman. "Thanks. I believe it. Just sucks right now."

"I know." Roman didn't remove his hand just yet. "Hey, what are you doing when you get off? You'll probably be tired as hell, but if you want, you could come over and hang out with me and Dean, and our other roommate Seth. We could get something to eat or play some games, or whatever you wanted to do."

"I really appreciate it, Roman, but I'm helping her move her stuff out of my place today. Wish I was a bigger asshole; I could make her do it all on her own, and just go straight to bed when I get home. But nah. Sooner she's packed up and out, the sooner I can move on with my life."

"Okay. I understand."

"But I'll keep that offer in mind for another day? If that's alright?"

"Perfectly alright."

"Cool. Thanks, man. You're a good guy, Roman."

Normal life for Roman Reigns was never others coming to him for comfort and advice. Normal life for Roman Reigns was quite the opposite; if he ever needed someone for help, he'd get what he could out of them and isolate himself once more. Old Roman didn't socialize, he didn't _invite_ anyone over to hang out. Old Roman also didn't have Dean Ambrose in his life as more than a stranger.

Old Roman _also_ didn't have a gang called the Wyatts after him.

Even so. Roman preferred his new way of life. It was different, but Roman wasn't against that.

The cluster of people outside multiplied as six o'clock drew nearer. Roman was positioned behind the counter, and Dolph held up his golden key like the weapon of a warrior bracing for battle.

"You ready?" Dolph asked.

"Let's do this."

Dolph unlocked the doors and drew away from them before he was trampled. The crowd shuffled inside. Somehow the mob molded itself into a line, and Roman took his first order of well over a hundred for the shift.

He and Dolph were an amazing team. Roman rang customers up, including discounts on each transactions, while Dolph whipped every order that came his way. Another coworker clocked in half an hour after opening, and the three worked tirelessly and concertedly as bees, often trading positions from cashier to barista to get as many customers' orders done as quickly as possible. Roman was sweating and his arms arched from how much he was using them, but adrenaline retained his sense of awareness. He wasn't tired. he was happy, so happy to be back at work doing what he liked to do.

He was far too busy, focused on work, to worry whether or not the Wyatts would return today.

The morning rushed by so fast that when Dean and Seth came into the shop and waited in line until their turn at last, Roman was confused as to why Dean was apologizing for being so late. He glanced at the clock on his screen. He had only forty-three minutes left in his shift.

"We would have been here earlier," Dean went on, "but we were shopping for Christmas presents for you."

Seth stared at Dean, incredulous. "Nice. Way to spill the beans on that one."

Dean was just as surprised as Seth was. "What? It's Christmastime. Buying him presents ain't exactly a secret. Geez."

"Whistleblower."

Dean rolled his beautiful eyes. "Jerk."

"What can I get for you guys?" Roman asked. He enjoyed conversing with them, but the line was still fairly lengthy behind them. "Usual?"

"Actually, could I try a peppermint mocha?" Dean asked.

Now it was Roman's turn to be incredulous. "No salted caramel for you today?"

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Nah, not today. Don't get me wrong, it's still my favorite, but peppermint mochas are more…seasonal. Can't get those here everyday. Might as well order while I can. Extra whipped cream."

"That works." Extra whipped cream was very Dean. "What about you, Sethie?" _Oh good God, where did_ that _nickname come from_?

Seth seemed amused by the spontaneous endearment of choice. He rubbed his scruffy chin as his hazel eyes studied the menu. "What's a Polar Bear?"

"An espresso with white chocolate sauce and milk."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely. I'll take one of those, please."

"You've got it."

"Thanks, Ro."

Roman unfortunately had to send them aside to wait for their order while he tended to the next patron.

As expected he wasn't able to find time to clock off until a small break in business, nearly twenty minutes after one-fifteen. Seth and Dean were at a corner table. He walked in on a story, or the end of one.

"The guy ended up paying me fifty bucks to smash his car into a brick wall. It was awesome. Thought it would hurt a lot more, but I _did_ wear the seatbelt, and it kept me from breaking my neck or my head going through the windshield." Dean finished off his drink and set the empty cup to the side.

"Um. What did I miss?" Roman asked.

"I was just talking to Seth about the first time I played here, and what got me here in the first place," Dean said.

Roman blinked. "And that somehow ended with you crashing a car for a guy?"

"Oh, yeah. It was all on the same night."

"I didn't learn about the car crash until literally _just now_ , so I'm just as baffled as you are, Ro," Seth said.

"Alright. Start over, then we can head out." Roman didn't want to linger off the clock in a place that still might have needed his help.

"Do you remember my first night here?" Dean tested him.

Roman pressed his lips together, racking his brain in the chaos of the coffeehouse for that particular memory. "Maybe. Was it in the summer?"

"Early summer. Late spring would be a closer guess, 'cause it was snowing that night. The fact that it snows here in May just baffles me."

"Only sometimes," Roman pointed out.

"Frequently," Seth said.

"Yeah. Anyway. It was late spring, and I'd been living with Seth for a few weeks. Think it was before he learned my name wasn't actually Jon Moxley. He was working all the time, out of the house, and I was bored. I didn't need a job, 'cause I had all Bray Wyatt's money tucked away in my pocket. I missed playing my guitar in the public, but I didn't wanna get arrested again. Wondered if there was a place that could satisfy that need. So I just started looking. Became familiar with the city, further than downtown where I'd grown accustomed. I saw a flyer for open mic night posted in the window of this place. Walked inside, asked the manager what the deal was with that. It was just what I needed. Somewhere I could play for others indoors, warm, without risking a ticket or jail time. That's what mattered most to me. I didn't need to get paid or tipped for it. I just liked playing. I love playing for others, too. Kinda like the attention, not gonna lie. Love the applause. That's not why I play, but it's a perk."

"Kinda jealous of you," Seth admitted. "You've got that passion in life, something you want to do no matter what the world thinks, or if you get a paycheck for it. Wish I had something like that going for me."

"Learn an instrument. Music is an endowment, bestowed onto the world in accordance to every single god that may or may not exist."

"That's pretty profound of you, Dean."

"Weird thing is, I'm not even kidding. Music has this way of just _getting_ you. There's a song out there, an instrument, a band, an album, down to a _lyric_ , for _everyone_ , that gets you in a way nobody else on this planet can. Music speaks when words can't. And as someone who's not that fantastic of a talker, music helps me get everything out there that I'm otherwise…" Dean licked his lips, drawing a breath, as if accumulating the valor necessary to push all that remained in his sentence from mind to lips. "Afraid. To say. To show."

Seth couldn't comment on it, nor could Roman. Dean's admittance to being afraid in some instances was inexplicable. And sort of a relief. If he was aware he could be afraid, it humanized him. Put him on levels with Roman and Dean that perhaps he didn't see himself on before. He wasn't indestructible.

"Anyway," Dean carried on. "I came in a couple nights later for my first open mic night. I was really late, 'cause I walked the whole way from home. I didn't want to disrupt any performances or anyone waiting, so I just kept to myself in the back for a while until several others went before me."

"Oh, I remember that," Roman said with a nod. "Well, you always showed up late, and you always went last way late into the night, but I think I was working that first time you showed up. You looked confused as all hell."

"Luckily it didn't take me long to fall into the process. You remember what I played that first night?"

"I have a guess, but far be it for _you_ to be predictable."

"Hey, I can be predictable sometimes. I sit in the same spot every week, I order the same drink from the same gorgeous barista. Might be a lunatic, but even we have our patterns in certain areas."

A smile touched Roman's lips. "Was it 'More Than Words'?"

"It was," Dean confirmed.

"Called it."

"Still my favorite song to play."

"And the fifty bucks and the car crash?" Seth questioned.

"Oh, yeah. It was someone I used to hang out with on the streets. He saw me playing there that night and asked for a favor. He was living out of his car until he finally landed housing somewhere down south. He had insurance on the thing, and it would have paid him a nice check if something ever happened to it. So he had me trash the thing for a reasonable price. Haven't seen him as of lately, though, so I dunno if it worked out for him or not."

Dean snatched his empty cup and flung it towards a trash can. Incredibly, he made the shot. He lifted from his chair and used a napkin to wipe away a couple of drops of his drink. What a considerate patron. "Thanks for the mocha, Ro. It was good. Not salted caramel mocha-good, but still Roman-made good."

"I'm glad to hear it." Roman didn't mention how Dolph had prepared the mocha, not him. He appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

Dean, Seth and Roman pushed outside. With a little less than two weeks until Christmas, the city was bustling from the parking lot stretching to the winding streets and stationed shops and businesses on every corner. It was such a stressful time of year for many, Roman included. But this Christmas looked a bit more promising than years past.

"We heading home?" Dean asked, looking to Seth and Roman and back again.

"Yeah, we can do that. I'm off today," Seth said.

"I'll ride with Ro, if that's okay, Seth. Since I rode with you up here."

Seth smiled. "Of course. That's fair."

Roman freed his hair from its tie and zipped his jacket up. "See you at home, then."

Dean's phone was buzzing when they got into the car. Dean waited past the slamming doors, the engine turning over, and Roman turning the music down on the radio before answering. "Hey, man."

Roman focused on driving, but it was impossible not to eavesdrop on the conversation with Dean right next to him. He didn't miss the color sapping from Dean's face, his bottom lip twitching as whoever he was speaking to fed him information that might have concerned him. Dean rubbed his mouth.

"You sure?"

A long pause. Roman was anxious to hear everything he was missing.

"Okay, when? Same place?"

Another long pause. Roman tried to control his breathing. Was this Dean's uncle? Was this good news? Bad?

"Yeah, I can do that. Jeff again? Sure. Yeah, that works. Okay. Thanks."

Dean ended the call and sighed.

"Was that your uncle?" Roman asked before Dean could make him wait any longer.

"Yeah."

"What's going on?"

"Well." Dean's hands folded together in his lap. His knee bounced on the floor. Roman made a mental note to vacuum his car, clean it out, at some point when he was free. "Luke Harper is dead."

Roman nearly hit the brakes in the middle of the road. He allowed himself to look at Dean, search for honesty in his expression, for a moment before forcing his eyes back on the road, the surrounding traffic. Dean wasn't lying. His face was somber with the refreshing reality. "Luke's the one who we met at Zodiac, right?"

"Yeah. The real bushy one. Well, they're _all_ bushy, I suppose…"

"The one who got shot that night you called up those other gangsters," Roman specified.

"Yep." Dean popped the letter "p" on his lips.

"Holy shit. And he's sure?"

"Yep." _Pop_.

"How?"

"From what I heard from Uncle Mark, he had 'surgery complications.' He was expected to survive after getting shot down that night, but my uncle had different plans for him."

"Your uncle…"

"Probably the one responsible. Yeah."

Roman's grip tightened on the steering wheel, fingers white and shaking. "So you're related to a murderer."

"Yep." _Pop_.

"You gonna tell me what he does for a living? Or can I come to my own conclusion by now?"

"He's not a murderer by trade, Ro. He hardly reduces to that anymore. It's something he picked up…where he's from. A last resort in his back-alley training."

"And where's that?"

"Guess I can tell you everything now. I don't want you thinking anything less of him. He's a good man. He's fucked up in the past, but who hasn't? But I'll wait till we get home. I'm sure Seth'll wanna hear this. Don't want him thinking I'm keeping secrets from him."

And so Dean waited. Seth was just as baffled to hear of Harper's death as Roman had been. Dean may or may not have been concerned on his own level, but it sure wasn't showing. How mellow he was throughout the moments was bizarre, but not outside his expected behavior.

Dean sat on the floor before Roman and Seth on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees.

"My uncle was a sergeant in the army. That's as far as he got before he was dishonorably discharged for his involvement with the Bandidos. Ever heard of 'em? They've a ton of current and former military members. A 'one-percenter' motorcycle club and organized crime syndicate with a worldwide membership."

"Think I learned about them in a current events class," Seth said, nodding.

Roman's hands folded atop his knees. "He was dishonorably discharged just for being in the gang?"

"No. He was dishonorably discharged for things he did within the gang." Dean smiled sadistically, then frowned. "Crazy things, things he hasn't told me entirely about even to this day. Ended up getting his stupid ass arrested for aggravated assault. Sentenced to twelve years, got out in eight and a half on parole. He changed in some ways doing time, and in some ways, he was the same men. He grew to hate gangs, all of them, every kind. They screwed his life up, he said, and he was going to put a stop to them himself. He was familiar with how gangs worked, many of the Bandidos, and he used the knowledge to his advantage. He can't get on with any police forces, of course, so he does everything on his own. Kind of like a self-employed hitman. He calls himself the Undertaker. Targets gangs and anyone involved. That's why he was so keen on helping me get the Wyatts. He's had a change of mind, but not a change of heart. He's still the deranged, violent type, but at least it's for the 'greater good.'"

"And you feel safe around him?" Roman asked.

Dean knitted his eyebrows. "Of course. He's my uncle, I'm his li'l nephew. We're family. He'd do anything for me. And so far, he's been a great help. I'm meeting with him again tonight to catch up on everything he learned, and where we can go from here. Where _he_ can go. I'm not sticking my neck out there again. Hence why he's here."

"So, how did he off Harper?" Seth asked. "Sorry if that makes me sound sick, but I just care to know."

"Same way he offs all his victims. Breaks their neck."

Roman made a face. "Ouch. What a traumatic way to go."

"Yeah." Dean stretched his legs out in front of him. "He didn't _say_ that's what he did, but 'surgery complications' was just an excuse. Nobody'll catch him. Nobody ever does."

"I really hope not," Seth muttered.

"When are you meeting him?" Roman queried.

"The hotel again. Late in the evening. He's got other work later. Don't want to inconvenience him for long. And, no offense, but could you guys wait on me somewhere besides the hotel? I really don't want him knowing that I told you everything about him. Seeing you once was probably enough to set something off inside him."

"Sure," Roman said reluctantly. "We'll hang out somewhere else while we wait for you. Just be careful."

"Of course. Now's the time to be more careful than ever. Harper was Bray's righthand man. I mean, I know they're all a bunch of closed-off, incestuous swamp apes, but Luke Harper and Bray Wyatt were closer than family. This I can attest to. I've seen it. Bray is _not_ going to be happy."

"We'll see you to the door, and back out again," Seth said. "Guess we can trust you to watch after your own ass inside the hotel."

"Well, Taker will be inside waiting for me, so no worries there."

The Undertaker. What an eerie name. For someone of his position, it was appropriate. Fitting. Chilling.

Dean pushed himself to his feet. "I'm getting hungry. What are you making us for lunch, Seth?"

"Why do I have to make lunch? Why can't you cook something for once?" Seth said through a grin.

"Fine. Microwave popcorn and ham sandwiches on white, it is."

"Sounds like a good enough lunch to me," Roman said.

"I concur," Seth said.

" _Fine_ ," Dean said again. But he was smiling, too.

* * *

"Late in the evening" ended up being around nine-thirty that night. Roman, Seth and Dean drove in Seth's Camaro this time, to conserve Roman's gas tank. Snow clouds had rolled in during the afternoon, now the heavens were salting the city with cold, crisp flakes. Roman shivered in the backseat. He'd only worn his Captain America jacket, expecting to be warm and indoors for a majority of the drive. It was warm, but not completely to his physical essentials.

"You alright?" Dean asked, beside him.

"Little chilly."

"Heater's working on it," Seth said. He cranked the air up a bit and put his fingers against the vent, testing the temperature of the flow. He didn't want to crank it up until the air was hot. "Almost there. Promise."

"I've got it in the meantime." Dean slid close to Roman so their arms were touching. He leaned over and rubbed Roman's other arm up and down with a quick hand. "That helping?"

"Kinda," Roman laughed. He opened up his arms, choosing to hold Dean instead. That would help the most. "Thanks."

"Of course."

"I'm watching you guys," Seth warned. "No dirty shit in my car."

"Hey, Seth, you got stain remover back here?" Dean asked.

Roman caught the face Seth made in the rearview mirror. "Fucking gross, dude."

"Think you meant to say 'Dude, gross. Fucking.'"

"Hey, y'all can do whatever it is you do best together another time. Not in my car."

Dean feign-pouted. "Boner killer."

Seth pulled his car in front of the hotel. "Final destination."

Dean pressed his warm lips against Roman. It would physically hurt to let him go again, if but for an hour or two. "I love you. I'll be back."

"Love you too, Dean." His insides swelled with affection.

"Love you the appropriate amount, Seth."

"Whatever," Seth laughed. "Get in there and get it done, whatever it is."

Roman watched Dean hurry up to the doors and disappear behind them inside the hotel.

"So. We've got some time to kill," Seth said. "What do you want to do?"

"There's a McDonald's over on Wahsatch Avenue. Not too far of a drive. If you're not above cheap, greasy fast food."

"I'm nowhere _near_ above cheap, greasy fast food."

"Let's do it."

* * *

In an empty McDonald's restaurant with sixties music playing softly over the radio, over a table bearing trays of McDoubles and a large fry the boys shared, Roman informed Seth of his plans to turn Annie's scraps into homemade Christmas gifts for Dean.

"Oh, dude, that's a great idea," Seth said, popping a fresh hot fry in his mouth, chasing it down with a swig of ice-cold soda. "What all did you have in mind?"

"I made him a pick out of a piece of the guitar. I was thinking of taking the sound hole and crafting it into a picture frame."

"Love it. He's gonna go nuts. What else?"

Roman dragged two fries through a glob of ketchup. "The only other thing I could think of was taking another section of the body, painting over it, and writing a song lyric he likes on it."

Seth's eyes lit up behind his glasses. He claimed to wear them more often in the winter because the dry air irritated his eyes, shriveled his contacts too easily. "Look at you, Mr. Arts and Crafts. Mr. Sentimental. Who knew you were a clever little schmaltz?" He chuckled softly. "Just kidding. No, he'll really love those. I think it's a great idea."

"Can you think of anything else?"

Seth had just taken a great bite of his burger. He wiped away a smear of ketchup on his upper lip, covering his mouth with his hand to speak. "Make a bracelet out of the, um, guitar strings. He'd get a kick out of that. He likes jewelry."

"Does he? He doesn't wear much, besides that earring. None that I've seen."

Seth swallowed the lump of food. "I don't know, he thinks it's hot on himself and on others."

That explained the necklace in one way. "That's a good idea."  
"Hey, guys," the young cashier said, walking towards their table with a broom in hand. "The dining room is closing down soon, just to let you know."

"Oh, okay. Sorry."

"I still haven't heard from Dean," Roman said, checking his phone even though it hadn't buzzed in half an hour. No texts or calls.

"He's alright," Seth said, to Roman and to himself. "Who knows what all they've got to talk about?"

"Where do we do in the meantime?" Roman held the door open for Seth. It was a fight to push through the door against a great gust of wind.

" _Shit_ , it's cold. Oh, shit." Seth rubbed his gloved hands together. "I don't know. If nothing else, we can just sit in my car in the hotel parking lot."

"Think Dean would be okay with that?"

"He should be. We're not making our presence known inside. His uncle wouldn't know we're there, since we wouldn't go inside."

"I guess we can—"

"HELP!" a female's voice wailed over the arctic winds. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Following her screams was a crash, then a wicked, husky laugh. Roman's widened eyes fastened with Seth's.

"The hell's that?" Seth asked.

Roman internally kicked himself for not grabbing his pocketknife before heading out, though he was certain he wouldn't even need it for what should have been a short trip. He flexed his muscles and jogged with Seth behind him, trying to trace the source of the frightening noises.

The screams came from around a trash enclosure, across the parking lot of the McDonald's, a bit further from the humming lights of the restaurant. The perfect place for an assault. He moved quickly, quietly with Seth, and glanced around the corner to find a young woman struggling against a hefty man, attempting to pin her against the wooden enclosure.

"HEY!" Roman screamed. "LET GO OF HER!"

Both the woman and the man twisted their necks to look at him. He couldn't make out facial features on either of them, for it was so dark back here. Instead of attacking the defendant Roman, the man shoved her to the ground, spun around, and ran away.

Roman approached the woman with quickness and caution. "Are you alright?" he asked. She was shaking like mad, without a coat to protect her from the frosty air. He put his hands on her shoulders.

Her head moved up to look at him. She wasn't screaming or crying anymore.

She was smiling.

Roman recognized this face at once.

"Abigail?" he asked, throat closing up.

Someone else cried out. This time it was Seth. Roman swiveled around to see Bray Wyatt and a shorter, stouter individual he didn't recognize restraining Seth against the compound, striking him in the face again and again with their fists.

"HEY!" Roman screamed. His throat burned at this point, a pain he neglected. He had to protect Seth. Before he could move, Abigail raised a leg and kicked him in the back of the head. The heel of her boot managed to break the skin, and his hands flew up to compress the throbbing area. He tried turning around again when suddenly he was grabbed by a pair of burly arms and thrust against the wooden paddock. A man matching Bray Wyatt's appearance in every way, but with a red beard instead of brown and a smooth shaved head, alternated between hitting Roman in the face and lower in the stomach. Roman took several crucial hits before his body kicked into defense mode.

This was not okay, and he was going to stop it.

He lifted his foot and thrust it into the attacker's knee. The bash had Roman's desired result, and the man buckled to the cold ground. Roman used his foot again, this time hitting the assailant directly in the nose. Roman was on top of him even before his figure hit the ground, pinning him flat and discharging his own batch of strikes to the Wyatt family member's bruising face. Roman jabbed him in the neck several times as well, repeating a thought in his head again and again: _If I have to kill him, so be it. If he had the chance to kill me, chances are, he probably would have_ …

"ROMAN." It was a loud shout, one that didn't come from Seth. Roman's head shifted right. Bray's little associate had his arm wrapped tightly around Seth's throat. Even in the dark of night, Roman didn't miss the flash of a blade in his other hand, the tip of which was pressed against Seth's neck. Bray stood beside his "family member" and the victim Seth. He was _smiling_. Roman practically felt smoke rising from his skin, he was filled with such rage, such hostility…such fear for Seth's life.

"Off him, now," Bray said, voice light, like it was a command he was confident Roman would obey. With that knife at Seth's throat, Roman hadn't another choice in the world. With a snarl, he pushed off the brawny ginger. The man immediately scrambled to his feet and rushed to Bray Wyatt's side like a wounded animal.

Roman, not letting up on his glare, put his hands up to inform Bray Wyatt he was unarmed and had no plans to proceed with additional savagery. Not that Bray was expecting it of him. He held all the cards, Roman knew it, Wyatt knew it.

"Where there is death, there is life," Bray Wyatt spoke. Seth coughed against the exertion still around his neck. Not that he could move much in this position, but he had to be careful not to shift in place at all, or else that knife would be through his throat in an instant. "There is a time and a place for everything. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to kill, and a time to heal. A time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to love, and a time to hate. A time for war, and a time for peace. A time to leave…and a time to come home."

Bray was looking at Roman now.

Or something behind him.

Another swift kick to the back of the head from Abigail's boot sent Roman's figure to the ground, spiraling into a black unconsciousness.

* * *

 **Big things happening! Bigger things to follow! What happens next? Stay tuned for the next chapter. :) As always, reviews make my whole day!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Warning: This chapter has quite a few dark moments; probably the craziest chapter of the story thus far. I didn't want to use extremely graphic content - it's not that kind of story - but said graphic content is, at the very least, suggested/implied. But it's epic and exciting nonetheless, and it has a crazy ending. I really hope you enjoy it nevertheless. So get ready!**

* * *

In movies, TV shows, spy novels Roman got around to reading from time to time, waking from unconsciousness was a trope. The shifting of the head, eyes flittering behind closed lids until they remembered how to open themselves. Sometimes characters woke with a start, jolting to awareness by an invisible electric shock. Roman stirred from his unconsciousness as though he'd been blackout drunk the night before. His head throbbed where Abigail had hit him. His vision was obscure even with eyes still closed. There was a blank spot in his memory that physically hurt even trying to fill in.

Roman's eyes pulled open like curtains, letting in a stream of dim light, reshaping his eyesight.

That memory blank was filled to its maximum when he got a look at his surroundings.

His body stretched over dirty carpet. His wrists, he quickly discovered, were confined by what felt like rope behind his back. His knees were restrained the same way. He couldn't move much except to roll, wriggle like a worm.

It was cramped in this dingy room. Cramped and hot.

Abigail Wyatt was sitting on the arm of a tattered couch, legs swung over the side, hands clasped together in her lap. Her feet still sported those boots that had done Roman in. Beside her on the couch was the bearded redhead who'd initially ambushed Roman; beside him, the portly rogue who'd held the knife to Seth's neck. Ringleader Bray Wyatt was in front of them, sitting upright on the floor, an outstretched and equally bound Seth before him. Bray was giggling as though he'd heard a wonderful joke shortly before Roman's awakening, his thick fingers sweeping through Seth mixed blond and brown locks.

The sight of them, all of them, especially Bray treating Seth like a cat, made Roman's stomach twist into knots and inside out. He strived against the impulse to pass out again. _Stay awake for Seth_ , he told himself.

"At long last," Bray said through a sigh of what could only be interpreted as relief. "At long last, the sun is coming up."

Roman's eyes drilled into Seth's. He thought the words _it's okay, it's okay, it's going to be alright_ again and again, as though he could convey them into Seth's own mind by the look alone. A mental fax. Emitting reassurance. A hope for refuge.

Seth stared back with only sadness. Roman couldn't tell if Seth was getting the message, or if he chose not to believe it.

"I'll be honest with you, Roman," Bray continued, "I thought my gray skies would never clear up. Especially not after I found my baby brother Luke Harper dead in the hospital, neck broken. Now, are you going to sit here and tell me you had nothing to do with that? Hmm?"

Roman said nothing in the silence Bray allowed for his chance to speak. Whatever Roman said would not be taken seriously. Bray was nuts. He was going to believe anything he was going to believe, truth or false.

"I thought so," Bray spoke softly. His hand moved from Seth's hair to around his neck. The fingers spread over the tender throat and closed with light pressure. Seth coughed, grappled for breath over the pressure, the pain, the closure to his lungs. Roman growled, arms tugging against the bondage—to no aid. "Would be a real shame if I made the decision to…punish you for that, by breaking _your_ baby brother's neck. Wouldn't even be that hard, either. Just have to…" Bray tightened his clench on Seth's throat. His face ignited with shades of dark red.

"Stop!" Roman barked. How could he be so angry? Rightfully so, of course, considering all that managed to happen to him…but he wasn't afraid. Not for his own life, a bit for Seth's on the other hand…but for his very first (and, God willingly, last) time as a victim of kidnapping, he was inordinately calm. Irate, yes, but not panicky. "Just stop."

Bray was smiling. The sick puppy knew he was holding all the cards. But Roman wasn't ready to fold.

"No," he whispered. "I already have my plans for tonight. For you, for little Seth here"—the fingers returned to Seth's hair, treating him uncomfortably and sinisterly nicer—"and for your Dean Ambrose."

Roman's head ached from his abhorrence for Bray Wyatt and his whole fucking family alone. "What is your fucking obsession with Dean, I'll ask you again? Why is it so fucking important that you 'get him back'? Why can't you just leave him be and move on with your fucking life?"

Bray's smile twisted downward. How was the smile so much more frightening than his frown? "Your language isn't necessary, boy, and it isn't a good idea, considering where I am." Bray Wyatt pushed himself to his feet. "As for the answer to your question, Dean's the one who let himself in as _my_ family. And family don't just quit on each other. You can walk away, but you can never leave. You can fight, but you don't give up." He shifted back and forth in front of Roman, eyes never leaving the fettered Roman. "There's different types of family, too. It's a concept not to be taken too delicately, but it isn't limited to flesh and blood. Hell, you don't even need the same last name to be family. Though flesh and blood might be the most important thing in the world, like Abigail here, Erick, little Bo."

Ah. Bo—Roman recalled Dean referring to him as Bo Dallas, a "little shit"—was the teapot-looking man, short and stout. Erick Rowan must have been the redhead.

"It goes further. Deeper with some. Family, Roman. _Family_. You can't just _leave_. Then again, I wouldn't expect you to know much about family, would you? Hmm? You see, as I've watched you, I've noticed you don't have much family around, do you? You go from work to that cute little comic book store—and home and that's it. What do you have in this life? Who do you have in the world? Rollins here, and Ambrose. And that's it. It's sad, really. You don't know what you're missing."

Roman closed his eyes. Could he simply wish Bray Wyatt away? Wish away that evangelical preacher-style verbalization of his? Praying alone wouldn't get him out of this. He had to think. Keep Bray calm. Who knew what the bastard had planned?

"And tonight…tonight I get my family back. It'll be a homecoming celebration. The prodigal son shall return to the father, and there will be a great feast."

"Dean's not your family," Roman said. "He never was, he never will be. And he's _never_ coming back to you."

"Is that so?" Bray mused. He slipped a meaty hand into the pocket of his pants and extracted a device. Roman realized at once it was his phone. "I know you're madly in love with him, Roman Reigns, but it sounds to me like you don't know him the way I do."

He tapped on the screen, knowing how the gadget worked. So he wasn't a backwards, backwoods yokel after all. Roman swallowed hard. What was to happen?

Dean's crepitant voice filled the room as Bray activated speaker mode. "Finally, Ro. I texted you a few times. I was starting to worry."

"Wise thinking on your part, Ambrose. Not something you're really used to doing."

Silence for several drawn-out seconds. Roman's heart slammed loud with each one that passed. "Bray?"

"Ah, there you go, my boy."

"W-where did you get Roman's phone?"

"On his person, of course, silly thing. Stashed away in his jacket. Kinda fell out of the pocket when I was tying him up."

Roman could visualize Dean now, exactly how he looked and all he was doing during this phone call. Pacing the floor. Hand against his head, compressing the shock, his fear. Breath increased, unstable. Chest aching like he was having a heart attack. His heart _was_ under attack.

"Where is he?"

"He's with me. We're all here for your welcome-home party, and I just _now_ thought to invite the guest of honor." Bray smiled sheepishly, placing a finger to his cheek as if to say _whoopsie_.

"Let me talk to him."

"Of course." Bray shoved the phone into Roman's face and said, as though Roman hadn't heard Dean's appeal, "For you, Roman."

Roman just glared at Bray. Perhaps if he was able to remain silent, Dean could buy this as a prank, another trick, a mind game, psychological warfare just to fuck with his already indisposed mind…Dean wouldn't fall for this, he couldn't, he had to stay away from this miserable place…

He shook his head no. Defiant. Valiant. Had to be.

Bray sighed, inconvenienced by Roman's noncompliance. He nodded to Erick, expecting this, who drew a handgun from beneath his hoodie. Roman assumed the weapon would aim for him, a fear tactic to make him talk, but instead the gun lowered toward the floor and Seth was made the target instead.

"Speak, or he dies," Bray said, voice never lifting from its natural peace.

Roman's head drooped. Defeated. He felt like a traitor as he said at last, "Dean."

"Oh, shit. Oh Jesus, Roman, what the fuck's going on? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Dean, don't lose your mind. Please. I know this is fucked up, but you need to stay calm. You can't give him what he wants—"

"Your bravery is imposing, Roman, but _foolish_ ," Bray said, pulling the phone away. "Are you really so willing to risk your safety, risk your _life_ , for _him_? Ambrose is a lying, selfish, crafty little shrew, who thinks he can use people to his advantage until they no longer serve an advantageous purpose, then he drops them. He will learn how you just can't do that to family."

"Fuck you, Bray, I'm not your family!" Dean screamed.

Bray set the phone on the carpet. Removed something else from his pocket. The knife from before; it was still on him. Bray took hold of Roman's throat to hold him steady as he trawled the tip of the blade from his cheekbone down to the jawline. Roman shouted out in pain, helpless against it, just what Wyatt wanted. The pressure was strong enough to break skin, and blood seeped from the narrow laceration, slinking down his neck.

"GET _AWAY_ FROM HIM!" Seth howled, writhing in his bondage. He was silenced and stilled when Erick touched his back with the butt of the handgun.

"What was that?" Bray asked Dean. "I couldn't hear you over their screams…could you repeat that? Or, may I advise you not to berate me like that again, Ambrose. For the sake of your only two friends in the world, I wouldn't if I were you."

"F-friends…"

"Yes," Bray said, thrilled with himself. "Your little buddy Seth Rollins had an invitation to the homecoming as well. He RSVP'd posthaste. Do I need to prove it to you?"

"No! No—okay, okay, okay, okay." It was the most painful thing in the world to hear: Dean breaking. "Where are you…I'll be there, just…don't. Please. Not anymore. Please."

Roman's cheek stung like a bad sunburn. His face was contorted with pain. He turned away from Seth, so Seth wouldn't have to completely witness Roman's pain. Both the physical and the inner.

"You know where I am, Dean. You've been here before with my sister. Remember? When you scared her bad and made her cut her hair? You remember."

"Yeah, I…I remember." He'd omitted several curse words from the sentence, Roman could tell. The calmer he could respond to Bray, the less he could agitate the "swamp ape", the better it would be for Roman and Seth.

"Tell me what you're doing, Dean," Bray directed him. "I want to hear you say it."

It took Dean a long, long time to force the words from his esophagus.

"I'm coming home, Bray."

Bray ended the call before Roman could angrily protest.

"Okay, boys," he said next, turning to Bo and Erick. "Do away with him."

Roman twisted his neck back around in time to see Erick and Bo off the couch, hoisting Seth to his feet. "What are you doing?" he interrogated.

"Putting him somewhere safe. Don't worry. He's not going anywhere," Bray assured.

Roman watched helplessly as Seth was forced into a different room across the area at gunpoint. Bo flicked a switch, and a bright, buzzing light revealed a kitchen, mostly empty except for a stove on one side and an industrial-size freezer on the other. From where he was, Roman had a full view of Erick tugging the metal door open. Arctic air pushed from the spacious inside. Erick and Bo shoved Seth into the freezer.

"HEY!" Roman screamed, squirming in his bondage, a hostile caterpillar snared in a cocoon.

Before Seth could recover, Erick slammed the door shut, rattling the appliance. He gave an order to Bo: "Keep him in there." With a nod Bo slid to the floor, pressing his back against the door, holding it sealed. Erick returned to the living room, to Bray's side.

"No!" Roman said. "No, get him out of there. I'll take it, I'll do it, I'll do it for him." They'd made him go into the freezer without a jacket; only his t-shirt, jeans and bare feet. Seth had muscle, but Roman was far more built. He could withstand the cold better than Seth could. He hated to beg, but he wanted to protect Seth. He _needed_ to. Uncommon anatomy facts weren't his strong point; _how long can the human body withstand freezer temperatures_ …

"That's mighty sweet of you, Roman, but I have something else planned for you," Bray said.

Seth was subversive in the freezer. Roman heard him slamming his foot against the door over and over again, a muted cry of, "Let me out! Let me the _fuck_ out of here!"

"Quit your kickin', or I'll kill you in cold blood!" Bo Dallas hollered. He flared up with hysterical laughter at his own atrocious pun. "Wanna test me on that one, Rollins?"

The kicking slowed, then eventually stopped. Roman tried convincing himself Seth had stopped voluntarily in favor of Bray's orders; not because he'd lost consciousness in there already…he was strong, he could hold on, _please, Seth, hold on for me_ …

Bray lodged his arms underneath Roman's and heaved him to his feet next. Roman wasn't up for long. Erick and Bray maneuvered him towards the couch. Abigail stepped out of her brothers' way, and Bray bent Roman over the armrest of the sofa, hands still tethered and incapable behind his back, his face now pressed into the couch cushion. He turned his head to the side so he could breathe.

He was humiliated by the position, inclined with his lower half sticking into the air. Roman felt Bray's strong hands take a firm hold of either side of his waist. He felt Erick's hand clasp the back of his neck, holding his head in place. His gash throbbed. Drops of blood crept through the open skin, staining the fabric of the couch.

He couldn't think of what Bray's "plan" was for him.

He didn't want to.

Roman was invited into a chilling reality when Bray's fingers coiled through the belt loops on Roman's jeans. They receded from his waistline with a couple of tugs.

He really began to struggle. No. No, no, _no_ way was this happening. Bray Wyatt was not about to do this to him. But as he shifted, grappling the bondage with grunts, Bray kicked both of his knees in from behind. Roman collapsed, falling as far as the position allowed him. Only the thick armrest of the couch upheld him now. He couldn't even stand.

"Relax, Roman, _shhh_ ," Bray hissed in his ear. "It's _much_ easier if you don't fight it."

The comment made Roman strive all the more to free himself. Somehow. In some way. He had to.

Erick shoved his face into the couch cushion. He was losing air fast. Bray gave his pants one last tweak, and the material met his ankles on the floor.

"NO!" Roman wailed as Bray drew closer to him, touching him now from behind…

There came frantic knocking at the door just then. Aggressive, loud. Was it the police? Had they heard the shouts? Was this finally over?

"Get your ass out here, Wyatt!"

It was Dean. Roman's heart sank into his stomach.

Even with Bray's back to him, Roman could see him smiling. Bray crossed the living room floor and unfastened both locks on the front door. He pulled the door open, arms extending already.

"Oh, yes. This is wonderful. Dean Ambrose has finally come home."

 _He is so fucking sick crazy maniacal creepy sadistic motherfucking fuck_ …!

"Roman," Dean shrieked, attempting a rush towards his love, but Bray caught his neck in the bend of his arm and pulled Dean against his billowy form. Dean's hands latched onto the thick arm, nails tearing at the flesh, trying to pull free. A useless endeavor. Roman watched Dean watch him. Dean had been crying, very obviously by his inflated eyes and dried tear-stained, crimson cheeks. This was Dean's breakage in physical form and it hurt, _fuck_ did it hurt to see him so damaged, both internally and externally…

"You have me, motherfucker," Dean muttered, jaw tight, the rest of his body slack. "You hear me? I'm _here_. You have me. Let him go. You don't need him anymore."

"Not needing Roman anymore would mean killing him," Bray said, clicking his tongue. "I'm sure you wouldn't like that very much, my boy. Besides, I _do_ in fact still need him. The three of you will _embrace_ your punishments. I'm sorry that they have to suffer on your behalf, Ambrose, but I have no choice. _You_ did this to them by acting so careless."

Erick was still standing above Roman, now brushing his fingers through Roman's long mane. What was it with these creepers and hair? Was it a fetish? The very thought made Roman feel ill again.

"The only one with a choice right now is you, Dean," Bray said. "So what'll it be? Would you rather watch Mr. Muscles take his punishment? Or take his as your own?"

Dean looked thwarted. His eyes were gaping. His eyes went from Bray to Roman, then back to Bray. "Fine. I'll do it."

"NO!" Roman roared, furious. Erick was having a difficult time constraining Roman on his own. He used both hands to crush Roman's shoulders to the couch. "DEAN, NO! DON'T YOU DARE!"

Bray, meanwhile, grinned ear-to-ear, as though it was the most perfect response he could extract from Dean. He was getting off on Roman's reaction by itself. "Excellent."

"But get him out of here," Dean insisted. He was referring to Roman.

"Oh, no, Dean, I can't do that. You accepted the deal, and now Roman will get to fully understand why you _don't_ turn on family."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Roman hollered. He'd implode if he heard Bray incorrectly use that word one more time. It was obnoxious and disgusting. Everything about him was repulsive.

Erick lifted Roman to a standing position again, then shoved him to the floor. Roman's head smacked against the wall, and he groaned as his body rolled onto his side. The impact had knocked his vision into fog. It sharpened in time to see Bray flinging Dean onto the couch, flipping him from his back to his stomach like a pancake. Dean was offering no resistance. He couldn't. Not with so much at stake, too much at risk. When Erick and Bray moved behind him, to pin him down and begin stripping him as they'd done to Roman, Dean lifted his head, eyes focusing in on Roman's.

And he smiled.

It lasted a fraction of a second, plenty of time for Roman to see it, but not to understand why.

Dean Ambrose, on the brink of a brutal assault, was actually fucking _smiling_.

Roman was taken aback. Nearly out of breath at what he saw.

 _Is he up to something? Or is he just fucking crazy_?

The smile dropped, and Dean voiced, "For the record, Bray, I still fucking hate you."

"Family does think that about one another sometimes. But it doesn't change a thing, my boy. Not a thing."

Roman was amazed at himself. He didn't implode, after all.

 _Why. Did. He. Smile_.

Erick took both of Dean's ankles in each hand and yanked his legs apart.

Something exploded outside.

The explosion was closer, more linked to this predicament, than Roman thought when he first heard it. His initial assumption for the noise was a car backfiring. He didn't have time to take in what else it could possibly be until the explosion rang out in the night again.

This time, he recognized the horrifying sound.

Gunfire.

Two bullets had pierced through the golden lock on the door, which swung open, smacking the wall behind it, nearly soaring off its hinges like a bird from its nest. Roman looked over and saw the man of intimidation from the hotel, Dean's uncle, the Undertaker stepping slowly into the apartment.

Bray Wyatt and Erick Rowan were clearly baffled at the man's appearance. He'd managed to get into the home by shooting the lock, yet he appeared unarmed with such a weapon.

"Wh-who the hell are _you_!" Bray cried out.

Undertaker said nothing.

"What the hell's going on in there?" Bo called from the kitchen.

"Take care of him, Erick," Bray commanded.

Erick nodded and hurried to aim the gun at this intruder.

Roman saw it. Now was Dean's chance.

Dean thrust his leg in the air, kicking Erick's hand, sending the gun flying. He shot up from his laying position on the couch, knocking Bray in the jaw with a clamped fist. Bray spun around, dazed. Erick frantically moved to recover his gun, but Undertaker reached him before the recuperation. The strong man wrapped his hand around Erick's throat, gripped it tight. Erick, wide-eyed and blanching, choked and spurted. Suddenly Undertaker lifted Erick into the air and slammed his body into the floor. Erick didn't move. He might have been out cold.

Abigail screamed. She darted to the back of the apartment, unfollowed. She wasn't the greatest threat.

Bray Wyatt staggered backwards, holding his head in a lingering daze, still astounded by this man's presence. The further he backed away, the closer Undertaker drew near to him, one patient step at a time. Taker passed over Erick's fallen weapon, and he kicked it towards Dean, who took it in a hold of his own. Bo Dallas made it to the doorway of the kitchen, and when his eyes took in the turn of events in the living room, he turned back around to run, hide. Dean narrowed his eyes and raised the gun. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger. Bo cried out. The bullet lodged itself deep in his back. His plain white shirt blackened with blood, and his lifeless body collapsed to the floor.

Now Dean Ambrose was a murderer.

Not that Roman was going to hold that against him right now.

Bray Wyatt couldn't back away from Undertaker any longer. He made the decision to fight. He swung a fist at the older man, aiming for the nose, the throat, _something_ that would have an impact, but Undertaker dodged the attempted strike and countered with a hit of his own, this one successful. He locked an arm around the back of Bray's neck and thrust his mighty fist into Bray's stomach, over and over and over. The force was enough to make Bray cough without the touch of his neck, his knees starting to fail him.

Roman blinked. He couldn't just watch. He had to get moving. He was still tied up, and Seth was still trapped in the freezer.

Dean leaped over the couch to Roman's side, landing gracefully like a cat, armed with a pocketknife. Roman didn't know whose it was, Dean's or Taker's or Bray's or his own. Dean used the weapon to cut Roman free of his bondage.

"Thanks," Roman said. He couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Seth's in the freezer."

Dean's face was blank, lifting to panic. "What?"

"Yeah." Roman sprung up and rushed across the room, Bray Wyatt and Undertaker still contending in the center of the living room. He vaulted over Bo Dallas's body, blood still gushing from the wound. Roman approached the freezer with too much speed, slamming into it with both hands before he was able to come to a stop. He grabbed hold of the latch and heaved the door open wide. Seth's body was balled up on the floor, shaking violently as though he was seizing. Roman reached inside, grabbed hold of Seth's arms, and lugged him out of the freezer. His skin was patchy with goosebumps. His hair was frozen in clumps. Roman held him closely, tightly, using both hands to rub up and down Seth's bare arms. "I've got you," he said in Seth's ear. "I've got you…it's okay…" He put a strong hand on Seth's neck. The skin was so cold that Roman's flesh nearly stuck to it. He held his hand there, warming the tender area.

Dean gasped as Erick Rowan grabbed him from behind, twirling him around to knock him in the head. Dean still had the knife. His body did its best to absorb the unexpected blow, and with a shout, Dean lunged his hand forward and skewered Erick's ribcage with the blade. Erick's entire form went stiff. Not believing that particular stab was fatal, Dean jerked the knife out of Erick and plunged it into him again, this time higher up, near the area of his heart. Dean sobbed softly as that lunge seemed to do the trick. Erick's body joined his brother on the floor, soul lost in heaven or hell or wherever it may have gone.

Dean teetered backwards, dropping the knife, taking each breath in shaky and deep. "I—I didn't want to have to," he said.

"But you did have to," Roman said, feeling gloomy for Dean. Seth was curled up still in his hold.

Leaning against the counter, Dean glanced out towards the combat in the living room.

"Shouldn't we help him?" Roman asked.

"No. Stay here where it's safe," Dean said. His voice was dismal now, as though his actions fostered him in a dark home. "He knows what he's doing."

Bray lunged at Undertaker again. Taker caught him by the throat, slamming his body down. Roman caught Dean grinning as his uncle drew a thumb over his own throat, tongue poking through his teeth. It must have meant something, something only the two of them understood. _I know Dean said this guy isn't family by blood, but geez, are they similar_ …

In a swift, trained motion, Undertaker gathered all of Bray Wyatt in a hold. He rotated Bray Wyatt's body so that Bray's head was only several inches away from the ground. With a light jump to power his next action, "Uncle Jeff" collided with the floor, crushing Bray's neck against it. Roman might have just imagined it, but he swore to himself he heard the very snap of Bray's neck upon impact.

Bray Wyatt's inanimate body slumped on the carpet of his own residence. Murdered in his own home by a trained professional, Dean's uncle.

Roman was dizzy. Dizzy from all that had happened, dizzy from whatever was yet to even come.

Seth was coming around, slowly but surely. Roman didn't trust him to walk on his own two feet yet, so he carried Seth into the living room. It reeked of blood and of death; if death had a scent, this was it.

"Rest in peace."

Even his _voice_ was menacing.

Undertaker's sunken eyes looked up at Roman and Dean—and Seth, in Roman's arms. "Are you boys alright?"

"Better now…" Roman said. He must have been in shock. His brain had shut down, refusing to process any of this any further. Probably until a bit later, after the dust settled and he had time to fully register this mad night. "Thank you."

The Undertaker nodded. _Nickname's_ very _suitable_.

Dean's eyes swept over the floor, from the kitchen back to the living room, over Bray Wyatt. There was a certain twinkle in his eye that Roman didn't miss. "Can't believe it," he said. "It's…over. It's actually over."

"For you," Undertaker stated. "Take my rental car to get your friend's. Leave it at the hotel. I'll be out of the city by morning. You won't get any more calls or texts from me from that number."

"I understand. Need any help cleaning up?"

"No. I have a process, Dean. You know this." He offered a smile, meaning to be friendly, perhaps playful, but Roman couldn't shake that sinking feeling about him. Better to have the crazy, demented killer on your side rather than against, he supposed.

"Okay."

"And you should know better than to call the cops, of course."

"Right. Yeah, I get it." Dean rubbed his mouth. "Okay. We're out then, alright?"

"Take care of yourself, boys. Look after one another."

"We will," Roman promised him.

Undertaker tossed Dean a set of keys, who immediately handed them over to Roman. Seth rolled forward, wanting to be free of Roman's hold.

"You okay?" Roman asked.

"I'm fine. Better now, yeah. Thanks, Ro."

Roman still put an arm around him, as though to tow him, just in case he couldn't quite make it on his own. "Thanks again, Undertaker. Sir."

"Don't mention it," he answered. "I mean that."

Roman swore he wouldn't.

Weak but alive, tired but enduring, Roman, Seth, and Dean trudged out of the home, what would have been a future crime scene if Roman didn't trust Dean's words that the Undertaker was meticulous and knew what he was doing.

The one man who could save them all.

Roman breathed the words sweet as air. Was it finally over? Yes, he could perhaps start to believe it now…

Over.

It was over.

* * *

 **...but is it really over? ;) Of course not! Our boys still have quite a bit of story ahead of them. Where troubles with Bray Wyatt may be over, who knows what else is in store for them? And of course, with all the drama and continuing secrecy (:O) comes the happy times, such as the upcoming holiday, Dean's new job, and family bonding. Thanks for being such crazy awesome faithful readers, and I'll see you guys in the next chapter! :3**


	30. Chapter 30

Roman didn't care what it took.

He was _not_ going to work the next day.

Roman and Dean pushed into the apartment, toting Seth between them with his arms around each of their shoulders. He was able to walk for himself, but the position was more for the sake of support should he collapse again. His body was still shivering, his heart rate in shambles by his rapid breathing. Dean and Roman transported him to the couch, laying him flat on his back with a pillow under his neck.

"Does he need a doctor?" Dean asked, voice thin.

"Don't think so." Seth was showing symptoms of mild hypothermia. _Thank you, seventh grade health class._ "For the time being, we can take care of him here. Get his clothes off. They might be wet and keeping him cold. I'm going to get him some pajamas and blankets."

Roman ignored whatever petty resentment he might have felt in any other given circumstance as his boyfriend Dean moved to tug his crush's shirt off. He switched on the fireplace, then opened the door to Seth's bedroom. It was freezing inside. Looks like he wouldn't be sleeping in this room tonight. Roman yanked a couple of dresser drawers open on a hunt for warm clothes for Seth. In one of them, he found a Doctor Who Sonic Screwdriver pen in its plastic box, obviously an unwrapped Christmas gift for him. _Whoops_ , Roman thought, covering it beneath a couple of pairs of socks and moving onto the next drawer.

He returned to the living room with Seth's Chicago Bears pullover hoodie, a pair of sweats, and three blankets. Seth slowly dressed himself in the warm outfit. He wasn't completely powerless or incapable of self-sufficiency. A lack of coordination and confusion, drowsiness, lack of concern about his own condition, a progressive loss of consciousness—these were all symptoms of more severe hypothermia. As long as he was moving and speaking alright, Roman wasn't going to let himself worry. Even his shivering was comforting in that in severe cases, shivering came to a complete halt.

Roman sat beside Seth on the couch. He pressed the back of his hand against Seth's cheek. Seth leaned against it, obviously enjoying the warmth of Roman's touch.

"You holding up alright, trooper?" Roman asked.

"Yeah," Seth said, coughing hard after the word. "Just fucking cold."

"Still?"

Seth nodded.

Roman looked at Dean. "You know how to make tea?"

Dean's jaw lowered. "Uh. Not exactly."

 _Really? He can't make tea_? "Okay." Roman bit his lip. His anxiety was _still_ trying to trounce him. He would overwhelm it with opposition. "I need you to cuddle with him."

Dean's head cocked to the side. "What?"

"Yeah. Use your body heat to keep him warm. Just…lay next to him. Under the blankets."

"Ro, are you sure—?"

Roman tossed his head back, eyes rolling. "Dammit, Dean, this is for his health, I'm not gonna get—"

Dean held up two surrendering hands. "Okay, okay, okay. I'll do it. But it's strictly professional."

"I get that. Thank you."

Dean's eyes narrowed as they inspected Roman's face. "Damn, Ro. You're gonna look _really_ badass now, with _that_ scar."

Roman had nearly forgotten about the incision on his face. It had stopped bleeding sometime ago. He decided to let the wound heal on its own. Stitches would be costly. He didn't need to be visiting the hospital again unless it was absolutely necessary. And perhaps Dean was right. One more scar to affix to his growing collection, additional physical evidence of his valor and resilience.

 _I_ am _Superman_.

"I'm gonna go make him some tea." The beverage had to be warm but nonalcoholic and decaffeinated, to prevent his heart from going erratic. Coffee was out as an option. Even decaffeinated coffee would be too much for Seth's anatomy in its state.

Roman filled a pot halfway up with water, dropped two teabags into the cooking utensil, and cranked the stovetop on to a high setting. He tried not to focus on Dean slithering under the blanket with Seth, enveloping the shaking hypothermia victim in his shielding arms. Roman nearly abandoned the stewing liquid in the kitchen and added himself to the equation. He could hold Dean and Seth both. He wanted to. But the couch wouldn't hold all three of them. Not comfortably.

But why did they have to be _facing_ each other? Why were they half a quarter of an inch from connecting lips?

He could hear Dean speaking softly to Seth, able to make out only a few of the words. "…Christmas…going…family…?…yeah, I'll…ask Roman…fine with it…"

Roman would allow himself into the conversation when invited. He concentrated on the simmering tea. Not much longer now. Cognitively he focused on the facts of his modern situation with Dean and Seth.

Bray Wyatt was dead.

Bo Dallas and Erick Rowan were dead.

Luke Harper was dead.

Dean just killed two men to protect Roman and Seth.

Sister Abigail was…

Sister Abigail…was…

Roman's mind paralyzed. He had no idea what became of her. Had she gotten away? Escaped? Was she still at the apartment? If Undertaker had found her, what did he do with her? Kill her? Allowed her to live? That didn't seem to be in his character. He pledged to "take care of everything" at the scene of the showdown, "clean up" with his "process." But was Abigail even involved in the process?

And if she wasn't…if she managed to escape…what would she do?

Could she turn them all in? Expose the night's events to the law?

Could Dean get arrested?

That wasn't even an option. Dean would never let himself get caught, brought to trial, convicted of murder and sentenced to prison. If they'd even convict him of murder. If he didn't get off free because he was defending himself and his friends. What were the self-defense jurisdictions in this state?

It didn't matter. Roman didn't give much thought to the trial that would never happen. Dean would leave the city to elude the authorities before that ever happened.

And Roman didn't want that to happen. Not at all.

 _So much for it being over. Now I'm gonna sit here wondering what the hell Abigail's gonna do. Should we track her down?_ Too dangerous. Roman didn't know what she was capable of, what connections she had through her now deceased brothers. Undertaker was no longer a choice, either, since Dean had virtually no way of contacting him again. But Roman doubted with all his heart Abigail was going to let them simply get away with everything that had happened. As far as he knew, her entire family was dead, and no decent human being would realistically stand for that.

Roman pressed his hands into the counter and stretched his back muscles. They were taut. He needed a massage. His brain needed a break.

 _Yeah. So much for it being over_ …

The tea was boiling. Roman removed it from the hot stovetop and let the bags simmer in the water for a few minutes. His mom had taught him everything he knew about cooking and baking and fixing drinks, as if prepping him for his very first job at the coffeehouse long before he obtained it. Roman poured the concoction into three waiting mugs. He stirred up two spoonfuls of sugar into the third mug and left the other two alone, the way he usually drank it anyway.

He delivered the cups to the living room. Dean lifted to a sitting position and asked which one was his. Roman handed over the sweetened beverage, which Dean took down hastily.

"Don't burn your mouth," Roman warned. "It's still hot."

Seth held onto Roman's arm and sat himself up. "Thanks, Ro," he said, taking the cup and lifting it to his chapped lips for a slow sip.

"Yeah. You're welcome."

Dean pushed himself off the couch. "It's your turn, Ro."

"My turn for what?"

"To cuddle with Seth. He needs us both. Plus, you've got all that muscle to help keep him warm with. Not like me."

Roman chuckled softly. "Sure. I can do that."

"I've got something to do, anyway."

Roman didn't question it. Dean was always up to something. The "Lunatic Fringe" disappeared into Seth's room.

He couldn't deny the little flutter in his heart as Roman drew back the blanket and positioned himself underneath at Seth's side. They weren't lying down, arms weaved around one another, just yet. Roman wanted Seth to finish his drink first. That was more important.

"You work tomorrow?" Roman queried. He squinted at the blue numbers on the DVR. It was almost four o'clock in the morning. "Or…today, I guess?"

Seth scoffed. "Doesn't matter. I'm not going."

"Yeah. I hear ya."

Seth stared down at the steaming mug. Then shifted his look to Roman. "Can you believe it?"

"Believe what?" Roman asked, feeling silly for asking that. Surely he already knew.

"All that's happened. This, it's…it's crazy to think that maybe it might all be over."

Seth was still coming to terms with it. Whereas Roman was past that point and recognized the potential of new dangers ahead. But he didn't want to cast any revived concerns out into the universe just yet. Let the dust settle and let the boys feel relaxed for a little while. "Yeah. It's finally over. Getting to live every day knowing Bray Wyatt isn't around the corner waiting to jump you—it's a good feeling."

"You never really know how valuable life is until…"

"Until you're tossed in a freezer, or left for dead outside a gas station?"

Seth grimaced. Bleak memories played over in his eyes. _I'm an idiot, I'm supposed to be supporting the ease now, not reminding him of the bad times_. "Yeah."

"But you're right, you're right. I think in life, those kinds of challenges are important, because they help us understand that life isn't something we should take for granted, because at any moment, it could be taken away from us. We should _live_ everyday, and to live isn't necessarily the same as being alive."

Seth nodded, understanding. "Enjoy the little things. Stay positive. Help others. Drink more coffee."

Roman laughed. "Yes. That's a must for living a good, full life. Drink more coffee."

"Actually, probably not. Might live a little longer if you cut coffee out of the picture."

"Well, yeah, but then you'd be living a blasphemous, shameful existence, and who wants that?"

Seth handed his empty cup to Roman, who put both mugs on the table behind him. "I'm tired, dude. Might just fall asleep. You sure you don't want to just go to bed?"

"I'll stay with you. I need to monitor your breathing, make sure you don't slip away from us during the night."

"You gonna be able to stay awake?" Seth asked doubtfully.

"Sure."

And he did. Roman's eyes may have been closed, his body and mind weary and longing for slumber, but he kept his word. He was too nervous to sleep. Seth slinked into Roman's strong arms and drew his legs under the comforter to protect his feet from getting chilly again. Roman tugged the top blanket of the pile up over their shoulders. Seth's head rested on his rising and falling chest. Roman wondered if Seth could tell just how fiercely his heart was beating in this instance. Was that Seth's striking pulse he was feeling, or his own?

 _It's the hypothermia. Blame that_.

Seth shifted in his sleep, turning his head. Now it was his lips and Roman's half a quarter of an inch from connecting. Not that he'd ever think to kiss Seth, _hell_ no, especially not with Dean one room away. Still. Crushes had a sadistic way of taunting the mind with notions and musings of the great _what if_.

Roman wasn't sure how long he lay there, cradling Seth, listening to his breathing stabilize in his sleep, the heat of their bodies under the blankets stifling now…he must have nodded off at some point, just for a moment, because he woke with a start when he felt a hand on his shoulder and his voice in a whisper.

"Roman. Hey."

His eyes pulled open, and he blinked. The fireplace was still going, the lamp still on, as though no time had passed at all. The clock on the DVR told a contrasting story, as did the faint glow of morning sun behind the blinds. Dean was standing in front of him.

"Hey."

"I need to shower. Would you care to join me?"

The idea enthralled Roman. "Hell yeah."

"I'll go get Seth another blanket. Make up for the warmth he'll be missing once you're away."

Roman carefully maneuvered himself off the couch. Dean returned with Roman's prized TARDIS blanket, what must have been inspiration for the present tucked away in Seth's drawer. Dean laid the blanket atop the heap.

"Hope we don't screw him over and give him hy _per_ thermia as a result of all this," Dean said.

"I think he'll be alright." He flicked off the lamp and the fireplace. It was pretty balmy in here now.

Roman joined Dean in the bathroom and pressed the door closed, locking it out of habit. He shivered in the little space, frosty compared to the sweltering living room air. Roman stripped of his dirty clothing and made a pile on the counter. He'd have to take care of laundry a little later as well. Dean's eyes surveyed Roman's naked form, from head to toe. Roman felt proud to make his love feel so enchanted.

"You are _beautiful_ , Roman Reigns," Dean breathed. "All over. Inside and out."

"Thank you. So are you, especially with all this out of the way." Roman tugged on the sleeve of Dean's shirt. Dean smiled, sheepish, and peeled his clothing off. Roman was dazzled by the sight of him like this for the first time in too long. He couldn't even wait to get into the shower; he pulled Dean into a firm kiss and pressed their bare bodies together.

Eventually they found their way into a steamy shower. Roman understood this wasn't just a sexual, sensual time for him and Dean; the two of them really did need to get clean. The process was delayed several times when Dean shampooed his unkempt hair, then let his hand glide down Roman's stomach and past his waistline. Roman's erection lifted in record time, and as Dean let the hot water rinse him clean of the shampoo, the shower concurrently got a little dirtier.

Roman fastened Dean's lips to his, moaning as Dean worked him over. Water trickled through his long black mane. He wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and pulled him closer. Dean was vigorous in rubbing Roman's cock up and down, up and down. He was aggressive in his kisses, biting his lip, prodding his lover's mouth with a feisty tongue. Dean was loving it, but it wasn't enough. Unexpectedly he dropped to his knees and gathered Roman's throbbing dick, all of it, in his mouth, deep down in his throat. Roman gasped, holding himself up with two hands on the wet tile wall. Dean's tongue lathered and swirled all around, up and down. Maintaining one hand on the wall so not to topple over, Roman used his right hand to tug and pull on Dean's sopping hair.

"That's it," Roman groaned, assuming a dominant position. It wasn't easy to command Dean what to do rather than beg for the sweet release. "That's it, suck me off. Just like that…fuck, just like that."

A glance down let Roman know that Dean was jerking himself off while sucking Roman's dick. _Wow, that's actually really fucking hot_ —Roman had little time to appreciate it. His knees nearly gave out as an overpowering orgasm surged through him, fingers to fingers, toes to toes. He didn't even try to muffle his groans of obvious pleasure. All at once his body relaxed.

Dean was quiet when he came, breathing in hitches and body shaking, but Roman watched as his own dick released a shot of semen that mixed with the water and washed down the drain. They had amazing synchronization. Perhaps it was Roman's orgasm that helped trigger Dean's own.

Roman rubbed Dean's shoulder. "Thank you."

"I love you."

"I already know." Roman smiled.

Dean shoved a handful of hair from his reddened face. "Guess we better hurry the hell up and get clean before we lose all the hot water."

Roman found it incredibly sensual that Dean allowed Roman to lather him up. Roman ran a puffy, soapy loofah across Dean's biceps, under his arms, down his chest, over his stomach. He playfully poked Dean a few times in the ribs, and Dean squirmed and swatted his hand away. Dean then offered the same sensual service to Roman, spreading the scratchy loofah over his figure. Roman could tell Dean was mighty impressed with the muscles that were just as much his as they were Roman's. He was touching Roman far more times than were necessary to clean him up. He was hard again, they both were, by the time the steam started dissipating and the water lost its temperature. They had to get out.

Roman shut the water off. Outside the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist before swathing Dean in his own fluffy towel and kissing his dripping forehead. "I love you so goddamn much, Dean Ambrose." His crush on Seth was nothing compared to that.

"I love you too, Roman. And now we finally get to live as one of those _normal_ couples, right?" He twisted his pinky finger around Roman's. "With date nights and sexy times and anniversaries and shit?"

"Of course," Roman promised.

"And no stupid Wyatts to send us into panic attacks every single night."

"None at all. They're gone forever, so let's not even talk about them ever again."

"Fine by me." Dean kissed his nose.

Now wasn't the time to mention Abigail. Now was the time to enjoy Dean, enjoy Seth for all the two had, enjoy the rest of the Christmas season, enjoy _life_. Take nothing for granted, cherish the little things, and thrive, not just survive.


	31. Chapter 31

**This chapter is pretty warm and cozy. We take a glimpse into Dean's first day of work at Escape Velocity by the end. :) Christmastime is drawing nearer and I'm so stoked to write that part...and everything I have planned after. Big things ahead, guys, HUGE things!**

 **And speaking of that, I'm PLEASED to announce that contemplating this story, building it up, plotting it out...all of that has led to my decision to turn this into a series. This particular story is far from over, but when it ends, it's certainly not the END for nerdy Roman Reigns, crazed yet quirky Dean Ambrose, and loving, faithful peacekeeper Seth Rollins. So far I have two stories planned after this one, but who knows how far it could go after that? However far it goes, I'm so excited about this decision! I have so many plans for these characters, and I just can't wait to share them with you guys! Thank you all SOOOO much for your support. It's because of your generous reviews, kind words and daily dedication to this story that inspires me to keep it going for as long as I want to. I owe you guys so much!**

 **The series is officially called "To Love A Lunatic." This story, "More Than Words", is the first in said series. So continue to enjoy this story for all it will contain. My time with this piece isn't QUITE over yet. ;)**

* * *

Sunday was lazy.

Perhaps that was too weak of a word to describe it. Roman didn't even get out of bed until close to two in the afternoon. Dean wasn't in bed with him, but Seth was still asleep on the couch and Dean was sitting close to the TV in the living room, legs crossed, head inclined towards _The Avengers_ on the screen. The subtitles were on, and the volume was down almost all the way.

"Morning," Roman said. "Or, afternoon, rather."

Dean craned his neck to look back at him. "Afternoon, babe," he greeted.

"What's this for?"

"Wanted to keep it turned down so Seth wouldn't wake up before he should be."

"I mean, why _The Avengers_?"

"Prepping for my first day of nerd work tomorrow. Next on the list is _Man of Steel_."

Roman leaned his head back, groaning. "Oh, God, no, don't put yourself through that misery."

Dean's mouth fell open. "I thought Superman was your favorite?"

"He is. That's why I didn't like _Man of Steel_. Just stick to the first two movies, the originals, and you'll be fine. I own them both."

"Weren't there like, three or four original movies?"

"We don't talk about those."

"Okay. I trust you, O Dweeby One."

Roman also noticed the Christmas tree, his seven-foot tall fake plant that Randy had left with him, was plugged in in the corner. Dozens of tiny gold lights beamed weakly from the branches. There were two presents, wrapped neatly, beneath the tree. So that's what Dean must have been doing while Roman slept with Seth last night.

Roman frowned, changed the wording in his head. _Lay beside him to keep him warm without falling asleep for too long_.

Dean's new guitar was still stowed away in Seth's trunk. He couldn't imagine how they'd wrap the thing before Christmas. Even if they did attempt sheathing it in glittery festive paper, Dean would know right away what was inside. Perhaps wrapping it was pointless.

Roman was anxious to see that look on Dean's face when he received his new instrument. And everything else. Eleven days to go.

He prepared grilled cheese and tomato soup, an appropriate meal for such a cold day. He sat beside Dean on the floor, and together they watched the movie in the quiet of the apartment, nibbling at their lunch. The credits were minutes away when Seth groaned, spun onto his stomach, and nearly rolled right off the couch. He awoke with enough time to catch himself before the fall.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean said.

"How are you feeling?" Roman asked.

"Chest hurts," Seth said, wincing. "Feels like I pulled a muscle."

"How much do you remember?" Dean queried.

"Oh, I remember everything. Wish I couldn't, but that's how it is."

"Manage to call into work at all?" Roman inquired. He had a late afternoon shift scheduled, but he'd called up a coworker and asked for coverage. Miraculously, he'd received it. _Pays off to bust my ass. Get rewarded for it from time to time_.

"Ah, shit." Seth rolled onto his back again, putting his hands over his eyes. "Well, that's only one no-call/no-show on my record. Hoping I won't get fired for it."

"If they knew what happened to you, I'm sure they'd let you off."

"No," Dean stated. "We can't let anyone know what happened. It would ruin everything. Undo everything my uncle managed to do for us. Can't tell anyone, especially the fuzz."

"I'll be alright," Seth promised.

"Can I make you anything to eat?" Roman offered.

Seth's mouth stretched into a yawn. "What do we have?"

"Anything. You name it."

"Don't test him on that one," Dean said, giggling. "Might ask for filet mignon and garlic mashed potatoes."

"Nah, something simple will do, as long as it's warm," Seth said.

"Care to join us in tomato soup and grilled cheese?" Roman recommended.

"Sounds good to me."

Roman quickly prepared another bowl of soup, another hot sandwich on the stovetop, while Dean traded the _Avengers_ DVD for the first _Superman_. It didn't take long for Seth to devour his lunch after Roman handed him the bowl and plate. He must have been starved. But he refused Roman's offer to make him anything else. He only really wanted one thing now.

"Bring your warm, cuddly asses back here." Seth drew the blanket back, revealing all the couch space beside him. "Helps me feel better."

That was the day. Roman hardly stirred from that spot on the couch, not once to get up, but only to shift when the boys traded places on the couch. Seth started in the middle. Roman held him in his arms, while Seth held Dean. Then Roman assumed the center of the couch, and Seth and Dean curled against him while he held a secure arm around them both. When it was Dean's turn in the middle, he leaned into Roman while Seth rested atop him, his head rising and falling with each of Dean's breath, the way he'd been atop Roman last night. Roman fell asleep several times during both movies. Seth certainly wasn't awake for a majority of each flick, and Dean seemed captivated by older scenes he'd apparently never seen before. He was awake every time Roman stirred into consciousness, then when he fell into deserved slumber again.

The next time Roman awoke was due to his stomach grumbling, begging for food. Dean was in the final scene of _Superman II_ , where Clark Kent erased Lois Lane's memory with some sort of super kiss—a rather stupid scene, in Roman's opinion—and Seth was asleep with his head strategically placed on Dean's shoulder.

"Dinnertime?" Roman said.

"I'm not that hungry. You go ahead, though."

"You sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

"You haven't eaten since lunch," Roman pointed out.

"That was only a few hours ago. I promise I'm okay. I won't starve to death before I get some more food in my system."

"Alright, fine." Roman was certain Dean just didn't want to wake up, disturb Seth's doze. His muscles locked on him as he tried to push himself up. "Then again, I really don't feel like cooking." His body sank back against the couch, muscles loosening in satisfaction that he wasn't putting them under any exertion.

"Let's order in."

"We do that a lot. Are we fatasses?"

"It doesn't have to be pizza. Make it exciting. Like pitas or something."

"What's a pita?"

Dean's face twisted in genuine concern. "You've _never_ had a pita before?"

"No. Is it like a sub sandwich or something?"

"No. Pita bread is, like…flat, hollow, unleavened bread that can be split open to hold a filling. And you can put all sorts of shit into a pita. They're killer." Dean suddenly beamed. "Wow. Look at me, teaching _you_ something for once."

"I'm proud of you."

"There's actually a Pita Pit right next to the place where I met Sick Fucker and Co. They deliver, so we're all good."

"Sure. I'll try a pita."

"I'll order one for Seth, too. He loves those things. He can eat it when he wakes up."

"I'm awake," Seth groaned from his shoulder.

"Oh. How long have you been awake?"

"Since you started yammering, jackass."

Dean smiled. "Aren't you a grumpus."

Seth got up for the first time that entire day to pull up an order menu on his laptop. Roman, still not quite sure what to expect, chose a chicken breast pita with provolone cheese, mushrooms, romaine lettuce, and barbecue sauce.

When the meals were delivered, Roman was impressed by the food. It was like eating a fully enclosed burrito, with a soft, warm tortilla cover and a tasty blend inside.

"Damn, this is good," Roman said, licking a drip of barbecue sauce off his thumb. "Good suggestion, Dean."

"And it's healthier than pizza," Dean indicated.

"Speak for yourself," Seth said, wolfing down his Philly steak pita.

During and after dinner the boys watched both _Captain America_ movies. Dean asked all sorts of questions about each superhero starring in each movie. His heart was set on fitting in with Cody and Neville tomorrow, and Roman couldn't help but feel a little proud and thrilled for Dean. Dean was essentially working the job of his dreams, yet he wasn't even jealous. Not that much, anyway.

After _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ , Dean, Roman and Seth opted for a less geeky film to carry on the slothful night. Whatever Seth's choice was, Roman didn't make it more than a quarter of the way through before falling asleep again. His position was ideal: smushed in-between Dean and Seth, Dean gripping his right arm tight like a koala clinging to a tree branch, Seth leaning into Roman's side with Roman's arm draped over him like a belt.

 _I'm never letting go_ , Roman thought before his dreams—and within them.

* * *

Life had to go back to normal the next day.

All three boys had to report to work. Seth was gearing up to get chewed out by his manager. Roman was already missing the couch with Dean and Seth. Dean, however, was charged for the day already. He was awake early, showered, with a full breakfast in his belly and dressed in one of Roman's black button-up shirts and slacks. They were a tad big on him, but he solved that problem with a borrowed belt. He promised to get his own clothes for work with his first paycheck. Roman loved the way Dean looked in his clothes. And he looked rather dorky, in an adorable way, in the button-up shirt.

Rides were arranged for Dean. Dean started work after Roman, so Seth delivered him to the comic book store in his car, and Roman would pick him up after his shift.

It dragged.

Mondays usually sucked for business anyhow, but not even bustling Christmastime was a good enough excuse for more than a dozen or so people to enter the shop during the usual "rush" time. Department stores and other retail chains would prove to be much more hectic than a local coffeeshop. Starbucks was heavy competition as well. Roman poured himself a toasted almond coffee to keep himself awake. How could a day of nothing but R&R make him feel so sluggish the next?

"How are you holding up?" Roman asked Dolph at the dish pit. Usually it was Dolph asking him this sort of question, not the other way around.

"Oh, I'm great," Dolph said, plunging a scrubbing brush into a stained malt cup. "Actually have a date tonight."

"Really?" Roman was impressed—and surprised Dolph had managed, allegedly, to get over Lana so quickly. "Who with?"

"Her name's Vickie. She's pretty feisty, fun, strong, level-headed."

"You know all this about her before the first date?"

"Oh, this isn't the first. It's actually the third."

Roman was incredulous. " _Three_ dates?"

"Mhmm."

"Didn't…you and Lana, like… _just_ break up?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Roman, it ain't like that. Vickie and I saw each other a few times way before Lana was around. Now that she's gone, I figure, why not try to start things up again with Vickie?"

"I see. Well, good luck, man, hope all goes well."

"Thanks, dude. How's Dean?"

"Things couldn't be better. Seriously."

"Good to hear. You should just marry the guy already, if he makes you this happy."

Roman chuckled. "We'll see. Maybe someday. Now's definitely not the time. Gotta finish up school and get started in my career and whatnot, first."

"Yeah, as long as he's not impatient or trying to rush anything, I doubt he's going anywhere. You take your time. be careful not to do anything stupid and mess it up. You might just lose a treasure."

Roman wasn't ready to question Dolph's motives for dating this new Vickie character. Was she merely a crutch he was using to get over Lana? A pawn to make his ex jealous? Or was he really still into her even after dating—and dumping—Lana?

He distracted himself with an order up front. Not his place. Not his business.

After work, he drove to Escape Velocity. He couldn't explain to anyone what delight he felt waltzing into the store and seeing Dean behind the counter, ringing up an older gentleman with several items on the counter. The shop, impressively enough, was fairly busy with business. Neville was assisting someone with a poster hanging on the wall, and Cody was behind the counter, close to Dean but engaging in his own conversation with a chatty couple.

Dean scanned one of his customer's items with the scan gun. It beeped, and he frowned. "Why isn't this stupid thing showing up?" he wondered aloud. He scanned the item again, obviously with the same results as his frown deepened. "Sorry, man, give me one second…" Dean jumped to the right and stated, almost like he was guilty, "Cody, it's not working again."

"Give me one second," Cody told the couple. He joined Dean at the computer, immediately knowing what the problem was as soon as his eyes fixed on the screen. "You're in 'item lookup' mode. You have to be in this screen here, for transactions."

Dean blushed. His fingertips drummed against the counter. "Right. I knew that."

Cody returned to his previous couple, Dean scanned the item for a third time, this time with success. "I'm really sorry, dude. It's my first day. I'm learning everything fresh."

"It's no trouble," the man answered.

Dean also had a difficult time opening up one of the store's big white bags for the patron's order. He rubbed the top of the bag between his thumb and pointer finger, frustratedly trying to open the sack. "Come on, come on," he mumbled. "Piece of sh—" He was able to censor himself in time. At last he managed to open it. " _That_ one wasn't actually my fault," he explained to the customer, who at this point was quite amused by Dean's antics. "But I'm still sorry, on behalf of this stupid bag." He collected the items in the bag and finally handed it over to the patient customer. "Here you go. Thanks for coming in."

"Um…you didn't charge me," the man said, holding out his credit card to Dean.

Dean tried to play off a grin as sheepish, but Roman pitied him. He looked humiliated, blanched. "Oh. Right. Well, consider this my store's gift to you. Merry Christmas." He grabbed the card from the man before anything he just said was taken seriously. Dean swiped the card, guided by his apparent self-vexation, laid out the receipt for a signature, then shoved the customer's copy into the bag. "Here you go. I think. Finally."

"That's alright. Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, same to you."

Roman waited for the man to walk past him, then approached the counter. Dean looked broken with relief at the sight of Roman, yet still a bit flustered.

"You okay?" Roman asked.

Dean shook his head. "I ain't gonna make it a day in this place, Ro. Ten bucks says I'm fired by the end of my shift. Only, don't take me up on that bet, because you'd win and I wouldn't be able to pay you back 'cause I'd be fired before my first paycheck."

"They're not gonna fire you, Dean. It's your _first day_. You're still learning."

"I'm a freakin' idiot. You know this is the first time I'm actually _really_ using a computer?"

No, Roman hadn't known that. "You haven't used Seth's laptop before? Or your own?"

"Once or twice. But not like this. It's all so complex."

"You'll get the hang of it. I promise."

"Should have applied at a Taco Bell again or something. Shoving lettuce and meat into a taco seems simpler than this bullshit." He waved towards the computer like it was his greatest enemy. "I don't know. Maybe one of these days I'll go to college so I can learn how to live practically in this overly-complicated world."

Before Roman could answer, Cody perceived Roman's pretense in the store. "Hey, Roman! Long time no see, bud. How've you been?"

"Oh, you know. Life." Roman offered the guy a smile. "How are you? How's business?"

"Great. This season's been really good to us. And hey, thanks for loaning us this guy for a few days a week." Cody wrapped a friendly arm around Dean for a brief moment. "He's really cool. Knows a lot about superheroes."

"Just what I know from this guy," Dean said, grinning at Roman.

"Which is still a lot. Roman is an honorary nerd."

"And one of our best—if not, our _very_ best—customer," Neville said, wandering around the counter. "Hey, Roman, good to see you, man."

"Yeah, you too, Neville."

"We were worried something might have happened to you when you suddenly stopped showing up every day."

"I was really busy with work and school and whatnot." The "whatnot" being coping with those miserable Wyatts.

"I totally get it. This semester was harsh, but it's almost over, thank God."

"Your semester?"

"No, dude, my college career overall. I'm graduating in May."

"Damn, I didn't know that. Congrats. You still majoring in Marketing?"

"Yeah. Unless I'm feeling bold and switch it up for my final semester. I'd need to catch up on a lot of credits."

"Yeah, don't be doing that," Roman laughed.

"Oh, hey, you know that comic you preordered? It's here."

"It is? I completely forgot about that."

"Yup, it's been sitting here waiting for you. Gathering dust," Neville teased.

"Like an orphan waiting to go to a good home," Cody said.

"Wow, way to make it dark, Codes."

"Fine. Like a puppy in the pound waiting for…adoption."

" _Much_ better," Neville jibbed. "I'll go get that from the back."

"I want to ring that up," Dean said. He positioned his hand on the mouse, awaiting instruction. "How do I do that?"

"Okay, so since he already paid for it, you're gonna go to 'Make a Sale', then click on 'Orders', then…hang on, let me get the order number from the comic…" When Neville handed Cody the sleek comic book wrapped in plastic, he read the numbers off to Dean: "317825."

"Wow," Dean gasped, "you have _that_ many preordered items?"

"Oh, no. It's just a code." Cody chuckled. Dean seemed agitated yet again. Roman could practically read his mind: _can I do_ anything _right_? "Then you'll select it, and press this button, and bam. Good to go."

The cash register popped open, and the receipt machine spit out Roman's copy to sign and one to keep. He would have added more to his purchases for the day, but he didn't want to stress Dean out any further. "Here you go, sir." Dean tried handing the comic to Roman, then drew it back suddenly. "Oh, wait. Do you want a bag?"

"I wouldn't mind one. Keep it safe from the snow."

"Sure thing." Dean had a bit of an easier time opening up the bag for Roman's comic. He safely deposited the comic book into the sack, then handed it over to Roman. "Here you go. Thanks for coming in."

"Thanks for having me."

"Yeah, no problem."

Roman got an idea. "Hey, Neville, could you show me something over here right quick?"

"Sure." While Dean and Cody assisted the customers waiting behind Roman, Neville followed Roman over to a corner of the store. "What do you need?"

"Actually, I need a favor. But it's kind of a secret from Dean."

"Oh. Got it. What's up?"

Neville was so cool for being so understanding even before he knew what this was all about. "Did he request Thursday nights off?"

"No, he didn't really give us restrictions on his availability. He just said 'I can work whenever you need me.'"

"Okay. For my sake, could you give him those nights off?"

"Sure. Cody usually closes, anyway. How come?"

"That's when he comes to the coffeeshop and plays his guitar. It's our open mic night."

Neville's head tilted to the side. "I thought his guitar got destroyed?"

Roman's head mimicked Neville's action. "You know about that?"

"He filled us in on a couple of things," Neville said, sounding awfully sorry for Roman _and_ Dean. Roman wondered how extensive those "couple of things" were.

"Well, our roommate and I actually got him a new guitar for Christmas."

Neville's brown eyes sparkled. "Really? Aww, that's really nice of you, Roman. Good on you."

"Thanks. I'm sure he'll love it."

"Well, if that's the case, yeah, I'll arrange for him to have Thursdays off. Business slows way the hell down after Christmas, anyhow, so he might lose hours, anyway." He winced, unhappy about delivering this bit of information.

"He'll be alright. I know he's enjoying it, even if it's a little frustrating."

"It is, at first. It doesn't help that our computer system existed before any of us were born. But seriously, he's doing well so far. Asking questions when he needs to, but mostly he's fantastic with the customers. He spent about twenty minutes chatting it up with a guy about the Avengers."

"Oh yeah?" Roman folded his arms over his chest, impressed.

"Yeah. They were discussing whether or not Natasha Romanoff was really a child spy for the KGB."

Roman pulled a whistle through his lips. "Wow. Dean held up pretty well in that convo?"

"Oh yeah. Solid answers, like he knew exactly what he was talking about. Either that, or he's the biggest BS-er I've ever met."

Roman could believe either one. "I'm glad you guys like him. And I know he'll get the hang of things. It's a new experience for him."

"Oh, he'll love it here. We like having him around. Christmas probably isn't the best time to be training for a brand new job, but we needed another guy, and he fit the bill. We weren't looking for a master cashier or the biggest geek in the century—or else we would have hired you, not caring whether or not you had another job." Neville smiled. "He's good with connecting to people, talking to them, interacting and even convincing people to add to their sales. He's terrific."

"Perfect." Very expected of Dean. "Oh, something else I wanted to ask you. Are either you or Cody very…artistically talented?"

"Cody paints."

"He does? _Awesome_. I actually have a little project for him. It's a Christmas present idea I have for Dean. I'm more than happy to compensate Cody for his time, if he agrees to do it."

"Depends on what it is, but I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

Roman filled Neville in on his "project" idea, and Neville agreed to pass it onto Cody. "We'll keep you informed."

"Thanks. It means a lot."

"It's a cute idea. So, you guys are pretty serious?"

"Did Dean say we were?"

"Dean definitely said you were."

"We sure are."

"That's good, Roman. That's so good."

The support he was getting in his relationship with Dean was moving. Nobody judged him for dating another man, falling in love with such a deranged individual. Not that he would have cared if anybody did. Dean was perfect in his own ways, perfect for Roman in every single one of them.

He wouldn't trade the relationship for anything in the world.

Except…

Dolph's words came to mind. " _You should just marry the guy already, if he makes you this happy_."

An idea Roman couldn't afford to invest in now. But one he tucked away in a drawer of his mind. Perhaps for the future.

It certainly wasn't an idea he was rejecting.

Dean was off sometime later. Roman entertained himself for that time in the shop; it wasn't easy to get bored in that kind of place. Dean clocked out (after asking Cody to remind him how to perform the task) and thanked him and Neville for all their help, and patience.

"Ready to go home?" Roman asked. Dean was probably tired, ready for another round of sleep so soon. The shift hadn't been easy, this Roman knew.

"Nah, dude, we need to go shopping."

"Shopping? For what?"

"Seth's Christmas gifts. Can't leave him out of the loop, now, can we?"

"Ah. Guess you're right."

Outside in the cold afternoon air, Dean fastened his fingers through Roman's. Roman took a moment to glance down at their meshed hands. Wondered what it would be like if each of them bore a ring.

A symbolic ring pledging eternal love to one another.

 _Someday_ , he told himself, meaning it with all his heart. _Boy, I sure hope, someday_.


	32. Chapter 32

Roman winced, sucking air through his teeth as the tip of his forefinger stung from the cut he'd just given himself on expensive wrapping paper. A tiny drop of blood surfaced from the tiny lesion, and he stuck his finger in his mouth. After another difficult one-handed fold of the paper and a push of his thumb against a piece of tape, Seth's next gift was officially wrapped. Terribly, but wholly nonetheless. It was the sequel to _Metal Wars_ , one that had come out a month ago and Seth hadn't even mentioned, considering what other crucial factors had played in his life around that time. Dean was convinced Seth was unaware of the sequel's release, so it was the perfect gift for him. Roman wrapped it, along with his selected presents for Seth he'd purchased this afternoon while Dean and Seth were both at work. His day off without them had been mighty lonely.

He stuck the inadequately-packaged gifts under the Christmas tree. The collection was growing.

One more day.

Seth and Dean arrived home half an hour later while Roman was in the middle of his _Doctor Strange #1_ comic.

"Fucking hell," Dean muttered in the doorway.

"Yeah, if hell froze over, that is," Seth said.

"Evening," Roman said.

"Hey, Ro. How was your day?"

"Productive, yet so dull at the same time."

Dean gasped. "You bought presents!" he remarked, darting over to the tree without taking off his wet shoes. "Hmm. None of these look guitar-shaped to me."

Behind his back, Seth and Roman traded glances. Did he have a clue?

"Yeah, unfortunately not," Roman said, just in case. The less suspicious they could keep Dean until Christmas morning, the better.

"Oh well. No guitar in the world could ever replace Annie, anyway."

 _That's not the goal for the new one, but I hope he still likes it_.

"Oh, Roman," Seth said. "My parents invited the three of us over to their house tomorrow night for Christmas Eve dinner. Kinda like Thanksgiving, family, food…"

"Fights," Dean joked.

"Of course. The fights."

Or had Dean been really joking?

"Anyway," Seth carried on, "don't feel obligated to come, but I'm going, and Dean was talking about wanting to go, so."

"I'd love to," Roman said. "It'll be nice seeing them again."

"Okay, cool. I know they'd be happy to have you."

"Can I open a present early?" Dean asked, handling one of the ones Roman had wrapped yesterday morning while Dean slept late soundly. If he recalled correctly, it was the tuner. A gift that wouldn't have made sense without its counterparts.

"No," Seth said. "Impatient kid."

"Come on," Dean said, replacing his gift on the ground and snatching up a different box. He wandered towards Roman and held it up to his face. "I'll let you open one, too. I know you'll love this one," he tempted.

"I can wait," Roman said.

"Although," Seth said, rubbing his bristly chin, "if you're really, _truly_ impatient, Dean, we can always adopt my family's Christmas Eve tradition and open one present tomorrow night."

"Yeah! Let's do that!"

Roman and Seth would have to work together to pick out a gift that wouldn't spoil Dean's great surprise for Christmas morning. But Roman was happy to uphold the tradition.

He was happy to spend the holiday with the two people he loved more than anyone.

He was happy.

* * *

Roman worked the opening shift on Christmas Eve. Business was slow, and the shop was scheduled to close early for the holiday. Not that Roman was around for that shift at that hour. He clocked out just as Dolph clocked in, ready to handle the rest of the day with Curtis alone. What a shame, Roman didn't have the time to stick around and inquire about Dolph's date several nights ago.

"Hey, have a good holiday, okay, Roman?" Dolph asked. "Be safe, be warm, be merry. All that jazz."

"Thanks, Dolph. Same to you."

"Oh, before I forget, here. A little gift for you and your boy to split." Dolph handed him a tiny white envelope that Roman immediately recognized. It was an envelope from Java Central bearing a gift card. "Y'know, if he's not tired of those mochas by now."

"I'm sure he's not. He'll appreciate this. Thanks a lot, Dolph." _I didn't think to get Dolph a present, either? Spending nearly five-hundred bucks on Dean and Seth alone, and I can't consider someone else I might be able to consider a friend_?

Dolph didn't point out Roman's lack of a returned gift. "Don't mention it. See you after Christmas."

"Take it easy." _Add Dolph to the list of late-present recipients_.

Roman was surprised to return home a little while later and find Seth in the bathroom with the door wide open, struggling to correctly tie a necktie. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black button-up shirt and dress pants.

Roman was a visual person, and Seth was a rather nice visual.

"Hey there, Gary Cooper," Roman said. "What's with the getup?"

"Ah, you know. Christmas Eve. Parents are kinda…"

"Ostentatious?"

"I was gonna say fancy, but sure, let's go with your word, Mr. College."

Roman smiled.

"Could you help me with this tie? Not used to dealing with these things."

"Sure." Roman's meaty hands got to work on fashioning the tie into place. "You working extra-hard to impress them tonight?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"How come?"

Seth shrugged, the shoulder of his nice shirt crinkling. "I just want them to know that I can do well in life based on my own decisions."

"Did something happen? I know Thanksgiving wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, but…"

"I've talked to them a couple of times since then, since the shooting. Things don't really get better or worse with them. Doesn't mean I can't try."

Roman smoothed the tie out with the back of his hand. "There you go."

"Thanks, Roman."

A bedroom door creaked open. Roman's. Dean was in the doorway, dressed head to toe in his own embellishment. Roman's breath hooked in his throat at the sight of his Dean Ambrose in a navy blue suit that accentuated his oceanic eyes. The silver tie made him look like James Bond. His hair, usually disheveled, was combed back and set in place with gel. He wasn't even wearing his tiny stud earring.

"Holy crap," Roman said. Another wonderful visual…if this man was anyone but Dean. Roman hated to admit it, he looked nice, but a lot better—and lot more real—with his messy hair, street clothes and even the earring.

Dean winced like the ensemble brought him pain. "Seth's idea. Picked up this little number at a thrift store on the way home. Can you tell?"

"Not even a little. You look great, Dean."

"Seth's idea."

Wow. Seth really _was_ going out of his way to prove everything was operating smoothly in his life. Time for Roman to fit in with them, though he didn't have a suit.

After swooping in for a kiss, Roman said, "Guess I better go scavenge my closet for something equally debonair."

"You don't have to," Seth insisted, but his tone reflected his inner thoughts. Roman totally should have.

"I'll see what I can find."

He had bits and pieces of an outfit he wore to a wedding officiated by his cousin Dwayne, which he mixed and matched to generate a decent attire: black undershirt, black suit jacket, black pants, black shoes. _He_ felt like James Bond now. He worked a little on his hair, slicking it back into a work-fashioned ponytail.

"Damn, stud," Dean said as Roman emerged from the bathroom after fixing his hair up. " _Every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man_."

Roman chuckled. He'd fit in this time at Seth's house for sure.

"Alright," Seth said, grabbing his car keys which answered the unspoken question of who was driving. "Let's G-O."

* * *

This felt familiar.

The little flutter in his chest as Roman watched castle-like houses pass by on the way to Seth's parents' home. The urge to hold Dean's hand as they moved up the driveway. Seth ringing the doorbell and not bothering to wait for anyone to answer before moving inside.

The family had beaten them there this time. The first floor was bustling with conversation and movement. It took a little while for anyone to even notice Roman, Seth and Dean. It turned out to be cousin Joey to detect them. Even he looked familiar, dressed in the same suit he'd worn on Thanksgiving. "Hey, Seth's home!" he cheered. He gave Seth a handshake, as though not wanting to ruin either suit. "Merry Christmas, cousin."

"Merry Christmas, Joe."

"Hey, Dean. And Roman, is it? One of my favorite empires, incidentally." Joey laughed heartily. Roman was surprised in that moment to realize not a lot of people actually made puns out of his name. He politely shook Joey's hand.

"Your mom's in the kitchen making her oatmeal cherry cookies. Those things are to die for."

"Ah, yeah, another family tradition," Seth said. "She makes these things from scratch, Roman. They're amazing."

Stephanie came around the corner, wielding a batter-laced wooden spoon. "Ah, my boys are home. Hi, sweetie." Not caring as much about the suit as Joey had, she gave Seth a tight squeeze. She moved to Roman next, taking him in with warm, regarding eyes. "Hi, Roman. How are you holding up, honey?"

"I'm holding up well," Roman said, eyes shifting to Seth for an explanation.

"They know about what happened at J/C," Seth informed him.

Ah. But how much did they _truly_ know about it? Roman decided to play it safe and not speak much on it, so not to let any privy information slip.

Her hand went to his cheek, finger brushing over his scar. "What a nasty scratch. Did you get that from the broken glass?"

"Uh, yeah," he lied. "Windows shattering and all. It was a crazy night."

"We're so glad you made it out alright. Hunter and I panicked when we heard the news." Her hand lingered on his face.

"Yeah, me and Dean are fine, by the way," Seth said. If it was supposed to be sarcasm, it wasn't transmitted well.

Finally, she removed her hand. "I know, and we're so relieved. Did they catch the guys who did it?"

"They did," Roman revealed with a satisfied nod. "Justice was served."  
"Thank God. The world is a terrifying place. Dinner will be ready in a few, so sit tight."

She spun around, waltzing back into the kitchen, and Seth and Dean each gave Roman a pursed-lips smile.

"What?"

"She must like you a lot," Seth said. "Her son and son's two roommates are involved in a shooting, and she checks on you first."

Roman blushed. The attention hadn't been his fault, or even his desire. "Sorry."

"Don't be. It's how she is. She worries about everything."

Roman awkwardly socialized with Seth's family in the few minutes before Stephanie's announcement the food was ready. Dean didn't even bother trying. He exchanged a few words with Kane, but Kane was concentrated on a video game with Kofi and Xavier in the living room more than anything else. Hunter came down from upstairs and greeted his son with a half-hug, then handed over a red and white envelope.

"What's this?" Seth asked.

"Little Christmas present. We can still give you those, right?" he teased.

Seth tore into the envelope and opened up a card inside. Several twenty-dollar bills fluttered to the floor, and Seth was quick to scoop them up. "Uh…thanks, but I don't really need it, Dad."

"Christmas isn't about what you _need_. It's about _giving._ So take it, be smart with it, and don't spend it all in one place."

Dean whistled. "Damn. He'll blow it on hookers tonight and tomorrow night," he snickered, chewing on something he must have swiped from the kitchen.

Hunter didn't find the remark funny. He turned to Roman next. "Roman. It's so good to see you, son. How've you been?"

"Been well. Thanks. How are you?"

He didn't answer the question. "That's a pretty nasty scar. I'm so sorry about what happened. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to Stephanie or me."

Roman wasn't about to have this conversation again. "Is there anything I can help you or Stephanie with in the kitchen?"

"I think she's got it covered. Thanks, though. That's nice of you."

Was Seth glaring in the background?

Roman had to get out of this. "I'm a bit thirsty. I'm gonna go get a drink."

He made it to the kitchen in time for the announcement, putting him one of the first people in line for food—behind Stephanie and Aunt Tamina, of course. The dinner looked scrumptious: bacon-wrapped ham, green salad, creamy potatoes, corn pudding, three selections of pies. Roman filled a plate and sat in the same chair he'd claimed at Thanksgiving. But the table filled in quickly, and he found himself sitting across from Seth and Dean instead of beside either of them. Before he could change seats, the other chairs were snatched, and Roman found himself next to Hunter.

 _What is happening right now_?

Hunter folded his big hands, quietly indicating he would pray over the dinner. Roman bowed his head but kept his eyes open. He recited the same prayer, word-for-word, he'd said on Thanksgiving. Neither Dean or Seth joined in the group "Amen."

Panic was settling into Roman's heart. Something felt very wrong, very off, and he wanted to either solve it or get as far away from it as possible.

Tamina kicked off the dinner conversation by talking about how Kofi was getting ready to accept an internship at a hospital. Kane revealed he was thinking about joining the Marines. Uncle Shawn brought up that his children were starting the first and the fifth grade in May. Accomplishments, so many things to be proud of, and Roman felt he couldn't even speak of his own. _I survived a shooting, a kidnapping, and watch Dean and his uncle murder three people. Also Dean got a job and I passed my psychology final. Pass the gravy, please_.

"So, Roman," Hunter said, craning his neck. Roman had been expecting this. He was prepared with an answer rather lame compared to the others. "What have you been up to lately?"

"Well," Roman started, "I finally got through all my classes this semester and passed my—"

"Roman and I are dating," Dean proclaimed.

The table went silent. All that remained was an uncomfortable buzz from the TV. Seth closed his eyes, as though wishing Dean hadn't said that.

He wasn't alone. Roman was petrified.

"And it's going really well," Dean said. Nonchalantly, he shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

Stephanie was the first to speak again. "Oh. That's…well, that's very…"

Roman's eyes burned into his food. _I'm not ashamed of him, I'm not. But why did he feel the need to mention this for the first time_ now _, at Christmas dinner? In front of all these people who're still strangers to me? Holy shit, this is awful_ …

"I totally called it!" Xavier said. "I saw the way you guys were eye-humping each other at Thanksgiving. It was totally obvious."

"Shut your mouth with that kind of talk," Tamina scolded.

"What? It's true."

Another long, long interval of quietude. All eyes seemed to be on him regardless of where they were actually pointed. Roman wanted to thank them all for the lovely dinner, the kind invitation, and get the hell out of there.

"Well, I mean, I'm happy for you," Kofi muttered. "If you guys are happy, then why shouldn't I be?"

"Yeah, it's cool. Kinda…weird, though," Xavier said.

"Shut up. You're weird," his brother accused.

"If I enlist in the Marines now, I can get to boot camp by March or April," Kane said. His attempt to ease back into casual conversation worked.

"Why the Marines? Why not the Army?" Uncle Wade asked.

"Man, screw the Army. Marines are the true tough guys," Xavier said.

"Both are better than the _Chair_ Force," Kofi snickered.

Roman quietly finished his dinner. He moved to the kitchen on his own to clean his plate in the sink. He wasn't too hungry for seconds.

Someone came up beside him. Dean. "Hey. You okay, Superman? You look really sick."

"Why did you…" Roman said, leaning against the counter. "I mean…no, I do mean that, why did you…"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Tell everyone that we're together in a happy, serious relationship?"

"Don't put it like that. Don't make me feel bad. I just want to know why."

"I figured it was better than telling the truth. About the Wyatts and the Undertaker and all?"

"I was just going to stick to my college progress."

"Yeah, I figured you'd go down that road. Remember how uncomfortable it got last time with Seth when you talked about college? It pisses him off. _And_ his dad."

"And _that_ , back there, wasn't uncomfortable?"

Dean looked surprised. "Not for me. Did it make _you_ uncomfortable?"

"A little," Roman admitted. He felt far sicker now than ever before.

"Hmm. I thought you were happy with me, Ro."

"I _am_ happy with you, Dean, but seriously? You know how conservative these people are. They pray before meals and probably go to church. And they're very traditionalist."

"Well, screw what they think. If we're happy, why should it matter?"

"Hey—" It was Seth, who'd appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, but Stephanie was calling after him.

"Hey, Seth, could you help me and your father out for a sec?"

Seth grimaced. Roman wondered what that meant. He all but forced himself to follow Hunter and Stephanie down the corridor, into a room at the end of it.

Roman looked back to Dean. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should have come up with better conversation. But I don't see Seth's family approving this."

"I'm not in this for their approval. They ain't my family. You are."

Roman half-smiled, but Dean was still upset. "You wanna just go home?"

Dean puffed air out.

"We've got presents. Still one for you to open early."

That seemed to work. "Sure. Let's wait for Seth."

"Of course." He rubbed Dean's shoulder. "I do love you, Dean."

"Yeah, love you too, Roman."

Outside the kitchen, Roman asked cousin Jamie where the bathroom was. Jamie directed him down the same corridor where Seth had disappeared with his parents.

Roman found himself in a bathroom the size of his kitchen. He used the toilet and washed his hands in the polished white sink. While drying off with a decorative towel featuring a snowman family, he caught Stephanie's faint voice. "…just feel that he's not the best influence in your life."

He could hear them through the vents. Roman froze in place.

"I don't need to hear this again, guys." Seth's voice. "Can't you get on my back for something else for once?"

"Danger follows him wherever he goes, son." Hunter. "We're talking about a _shooting_ here. Don't tell me Dean had nothing to do with it."

"He didn't!" Not even Roman could believe that one, if he was an outsider hearing the story for the first time. "Dean didn't shoot up the place."

"We know that," Stephanie said, "but he's an iffy guy, Seth. He's got a lot of issues. We've put up with it for a while now. Invited him into our home, took care of him if he needed it. But he's so…dependent. It's like he absolutely needs someone to take care of him, because he's either unable or unwilling to look after himself. He's helpless. He's a bum."

Nausea rolled into Roman's stomach again, quicker, stronger, like a storm. He pressed his fist over his mouth.

"That's what the money is for," Hunter admitted. "You can use it to get away. Move out. Find a new place to live. You don't have to keep supporting him, Seth. It's your life. You don't have to live it for him."

"Now's when I tell you guys that the three of us are living together. Me, Roman, and Dean all moved into a place."

Silence. Roman nearly fell to his knees by this sickness.

"You did?" Stephanie asked.

"Was this before or after the shooting?" Hunter queried.

"Long before." Seth's impatience was loud. "The shooting has nothing to do with anything, alright? It was scary as hell, but it's over, and it's _not_ going to happen again." _That_ sounded far more convincing. "I'm happy with Dean. He's my best friend. He takes care of me just as much as I take care of him. He's saved me, more than you'll ever know. And Roman is a great guy, but I don't have to explain that to you guys. You've been kissing his ass all night."

"Roman _is_ a great guy." Hunter's voice was tainted black. "He's got a good, bright future ahead of him."

Roman could visualize Seth glaring at Hunter. "Does this have anything to do with me not going to college? 'Cause that was a decision I made before Dean moved in with me."

"This is about your safety, Seth," Stephanie said. " _Your_ life. Something you seem to be losing control over very quickly, ever since you moved out and Ambrose stepped into the picture."

 _His name is Dean, Stephanie. Dean_.

"And now he's got this influence on Roman…I just hate to see anything happen to the two of you because you keep bending over backwards for this kid."

"We're fine. _I'm_ fine. And I'm not listening to this anymore. For the first time in my life, I know what I want."

"And what do you want, Seth?" his father asked. "Huh? What do you want? Where's your life going, if not into a commitment of service for this lazy-ass Ambrose guy?"

Roman had to fight the urge to punch the wall.

"To live one day at a time _blessed_ to be alive. Waking up healthy, in a warm home, with two people I love and I'd do anything for. I'm finally learning how to live, not just be alive. Don't need a degree or a perfect roommate, or even a perfect boyfriend for that."

" _Boyfriend_?" It was a word Stephanie and Hunter exclaimed together.

A pause. Then a door pulled open, slammed shut again. Footsteps storming across a hardwood floor. Roman waited a little while before leaving the bathroom. Having to pretend he hadn't heard any of that was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Seth was yanking his coat on near the front door. Dean walked over to him, trying to comfort him with some quiet words, but Seth wasn't listening.

"Have a merry Christmas, family. I'll see you guys around."

The byes and "catch you laters"s were given in confusion. But nobody bothered to check on him or confront him about what the problem was. Seth looked back at Roman, as if to say, " _You coming_?"

Roman obliged. He was surprised Hunter and Stephanie weren't chasing him out the door with hugs and well wishes and farewells. He didn't even see them come out of that room before he was out the door with an infuriated Seth and a confused Dean.

Nobody spoke in the car, except for the men on the radio, whom Seth shut off a few minutes into the drive. Roman sat in the backseat, feeling suffocated. This entire evening had been an anxious nightmare, for issues that weren't even his own. This car ride was painful. Roman had to hold everything inside the way he was used to, and it was killing him.

He wondered if Seth would talk about the conversation Roman already knew about.

Dean was wondering the same thing, but he vocalized his inquiry.

"What the hell happened back there?" Dean asked. "Did you get into it with your folks?"

"Yep. They kept the fights in the tradition again this year. Surprise, surprise." With one hand still fastened to the steering wheel, Seth dug in his coat pocket for the red and white envelope and flung it into the backseat.

Dean gathered it into his hands when Roman didn't bother going for it. "What are you doing with this?"

"It's tainted. _You_ do something with it. I don't care what it is. Waste it away."

"Why?"

"Just keep it away from me."

Dean looked to Roman, confused on what to do. Roman shrugged. He knew why. But it wasn't his place to say. Dean stuffed the money into his own pockets and said, "Guess I'm buying dinner next time we all go out."

Seth turned the radio back on. The silence was filled, but the ride was still unsettling. Roman pressed his forehead against the glass window. _Things'll get better. They have to. It's Christmas. And for the first time in my life, I believe in miracles_.


	33. Chapter 33

**Hey, guys! Y'all are in for a treat. I spent a LOT of time and effort on these two chapters. It's finally Christmas! But I didn't want a 5k/6k-word chapter, so I split them into two. The rest of Christmas Eve takes place in this one, and Christmas morning is the entirety of the next. Luckily I'm uploading them together, so you don't have to wait any longer. ;) I hope you enjoy it! TONS OF FLUFF AHEAD!~**

* * *

Seth went straight for the fridge back at home.

Dean was determined not to let whatever happened—whatever he was still unaware of—ruin the night. He flicked the fireplace on, closed the blinds, and switched on the lamps and the Christmas tree lights, giving the living room a cozy ambiance. "Who needs big dinners and tons of people when you have the three sickest guys in the world and all these little presents?"

"And beer." Seth snatched a bottle from the door shelf, then tugged a drawer open on a hunt for a bottle opener.

"Now it's _really_ like Christmas back home."

Roman frowned. This night wasn't off to a better start yet. "Seth," he said in the kitchen. Seth met his look, cracking his beer open. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Just won't be going home again for a while."

"Listen." Roman folded his arms over his chest and stood in the entryway to the kitchen so Seth would have to stay and hear him. "I heard the conversation between you and your parents. And I'm really proud of you for standing up for Dean."

"Someone say my name?" Dean called.

Seth blinked. "You heard that?"

"Unfortunately."

Seth bit his lip. "They're idiots," he said, shaking his head. His eyes swung to the floor, grip around the bottle tightening. "They're such hypocrites. They're always telling me to 'live for me', 'make choices for myself', 'it's my life and nobody else's.' When Dad was the one telling me a few years ago what _he_ wanted me to do with my life. He wanted me to follow _his_ plan. He just can't stand that I'm doing for me what _I_ want to do, not what he wants me to do. He thinks he's got all this authority over me; both him _and_ my mom think they're the authority. I'm a grown ass man. I can do whatever I want."

"Of course you can. And Dean _isn't_ helpless."

"No. He's not."

"Seriously, guys, I hear you saying my name and I'm getting worried."

"We need him as much as he needs us," Roman mentioned.

"Yeah. He was doing things on his own for a while. Might have made some bad choices, but I'd love my father to deny that _he's_ never made a bad choice in his life."

"We're family. We're there for each other. Not to be crutches; to be…"

"Boosters."

"Encouragers."

"Gossiping is one of the seven deadly sins, you guys. Isn't it?"

"It's gonna be okay, Seth. I promise." Roman rested a strong hand on Seth's shoulder. At last, a small smile.

"Thanks, Roman. I know it. Christmas isn't over yet. They haven't ruined everything."

"I set myself on fire. Send help."

"Alright, Dean, alright, we're coming back," Roman said, rolling his eyes, caving to a grin. Dean was such a dork.

He'd already changed from his suit back into his classic jeans and one of Roman's sweaters, which he looked snug in. He'd laid out three gifts on the carpet: one for each of them. "These are the ones we're gonna open tonight."

"Don't we get to pick our own?" Seth asked.

"Thought it would be fun to pick for each other."

"You picked for _both_ of us," Roman indicated. " _And_ yourself."

"I have a good feeling about all of them," Dean affirmed.

Roman had a feeling he could read Seth's mind. Had they gotten Dean anything that _wasn't_ guitar-related, whether it was part of the new one or the original? Roman would have felt better about leaving all of the new guitar gifts for tomorrow morning, and have him open each Annie-stylized gift one by one, at the same time.

So what could they do?

He suddenly remembered the gift card from Dolph. "You can pick a gift out for me, Seth. I'll pick Dean's, and Dean can pick yours."

"Oh, fine," Dean said, sadly returning his choice for Roman's present under the tree.

"Alright, I trust you," Seth said. Roman knew what he meant.

"Let's further Christmas this place first, though, huh? Get some music going. Seth, turn on the TV. I think the music channels start at 800. Dean, there's some leftover cookie dough in the fridge. Could you turn the oven—you know what, never mind. I'll do it."

"I know how to turn an oven on, Ro." Dean dramatically rolled his eyes. "And rolling up dough into little balls ain't too demanding, either."

"Alright, I'll trust you on this. Think it's 350 degrees for cookies. The sheet is under the oven."

"Got it, boss." Dean strode towards the kitchen.

"And what are you up to?" Seth asked him.

"Changing, and prepping Dean's gift. Suits make me feel stuffy."

"Tell me about it." Seth grabbed the TV remote.

Roman went into his bedroom, fished the gift card out of his work pants' pocket, and scribbled Dean's name across the envelope. He changed into sweatpants, long socks and his Captain America hoodie. He felt far more comfortable in "shabby" clothes than he did in any sort of formal wear.

In the kitchen, Roman and Dean quickly rolled twenty-one cookie dough balls. When the oven beeped, indicating it was preheated, Roman gently placed the pan on the top rack in the oven. Before he closed the door, Dean reached into the oven and plucked one of the dough balls off the pan.

"Couldn't have done that when the pan was _outside_ the 350-degree oven?" Roman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean innocently nibbled on part of the dough, then lifted the rest of it to Roman's mouth, who consumed the rest of it, then kissed Dean's empty fingers.

Seth reached a holiday music channel and cranked up the volume before disappearing into his bedroom momentarily to change into pajamas and his glasses. He returned in time to catch the beginning of the next song, Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You."

"I used to hate this song," Seth called, back in the living room.

"Why?" Roman queried.

"'Cause he never had anyone he wanted for Christmas before," Dean said. He skipped back into the living room. Roman made sure the timer was set on the cookies, then joined them.

"Not true!" Seth said.

"Okay, then who _do_ you want for Christmas?"

"All I want for Christmas is my dad to quit being an asshole!"

"Hey, mine too!" Dean lifted his hand, and Seth slapped it in a high-five. Seth finished off his beer, then set it on the side table and twirled around in beat to the music. He was obviously tipsy already. After one beer? _What a lightweight_ , Roman thought. But he figured, why not let Seth loosen up? The guy wouldn't be driving or in public tonight. He deserved to unwind, let loose…dance with Dean to Mariah Carey, which he was doing now.

"Join us, Roman!" Dean implored.

"I don't dance," Roman said.

Dean scoffed. "Bullshit! You were killing it at Zodiac that night."

"He's got you there," Seth said.

"It'll take more than one beer to get me on this dance floor," Roman declared.

"What if you're intoxicated on love?" Dean moved towards him, gliding with the brave yet false confidence that he was a magnificent dancer. Roman couldn't resist. He took both Dean's hands and swayed to the rhythm. Seth continued dancing happily by himself. The song ended with Dean's lips hasped on Roman's.

"Yeah, still hate this song," Seth said. "Still have nobody to want for Christmas." But he was chuckling.

"I'll share Roman if you want me to," Dean offered—teasingly? Was he being serious?

Seth looked nervous, unsure of the answer to that as Roman was. Seth licked his lips and looked Roman up and down. Roman wondered what he was thinking.

The oven timer beeped.

"Cookies!" Dean exclaimed.

Roman let out a breath. Too late to figure it out now.

He transferred them from the scorching pan to a plate, poured three glasses of milk, then delivered them to the living room. Seth and Dean were on the carpet, gifts in front of them. Roman sat before them both, forming a triangle with their bodies, and set the plate of cookies and glasses of milk in the center.

"These may not be your mom's cookies, Seth, but they're still pretty good," Dean said, wolfing two cookies down at a time.

"Hey, you get one fewer than we do, since you had the uncooked dough earlier," Roman said.

"You shared it with me!" Dean accused. "So you get one fewer cookie, too."

"So Seth gets the extras."

"How about I just get _all_ the cookies?" Seth offered.

"You pig." Dean gobbled down another cookie.

Seth slid the present in front of him towards Roman. "My pick for you. Merry Christmas Eve."

"And my pick for Seth." Dean passed over the present in front of him to Seth. "Happy Hanukkah."

"And my pick for you," Roman said, handing Dean the envelope. "Happy…Kwanza."

"You can open first, since you're the impatient one," Seth said.

"Killer." Dean tore into the envelope and examined the gift card inside. "Oh! Is this for Java Central?"

"Sure is. Now you can have as many salted caramel mochas as you want."

"If all you want is, like…two or three, anyway," Seth laughed.

Dean clicked his tongue. "Free mochas. Does it get much better?"

 _It can and it will_ , Roman thought. _Believe that_.

Dean Martin's "Let It Snow" filled the room, heating up to comfort thanks to the fire, as Seth opened his present next. He grinned as he extracted a blue Chicago Bears beanie hat from the paper. "Sweet, man," he said, pulling it over his head. He looked positively adorable.

"I know how much you love them," Roman said.

"Which means you love teams that _suck_ ," Dean snickered.

"Shut up, Ambrose, you don't even like football."

"They're a football team? Could have fooled me."

"You must have been thinking of the Chicago Cubs," Roman said, setting him up for the joke.

"Doesn't matter, they both suck."

Seth mock-laughed with both of them. "You guys are dicks."

Dean wrapped his arms around his legs, setting his chin on his knee. "You still love us. Open yours next, Ro."

Roman slowly pulled back the wrapping paper. He smiled at the box he'd accidentally come across in Seth's sock drawer: the Doctor Who Sonic Screwdriver pen. He was thrilled to receive it nonetheless. "Geektastic," he praised. "I love it. This'll come in handy for my classes next semester." He cast the reminder that he had to sign up for those particular courses soon, before his required classes filled up. Now was surely not the time to focus on or worry about school.

"I saw it at the store," Dean said. "Thought you'd like it."

"You a Whovian?" Seth inquired.

"Not hardcore. But I enjoy the show. Especially David Tennant as the doctor."

"Did you care much for Matt Smith?"

"Sure, I did. I just prefer David Tennant."

"I think everyone does."

Roman's eyes twinkled. "Do you like Doctor Who?"

"Older episodes. Not so much the new ones."

"They're not bad."

"You know who I'd love to see as the next doctor? Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Oh, _hell_ yeah, dude. I've been pitching that idea to myself for years. He'd rock it."

"But people might still think of him as Sherlock in that role. Might not take him seriously as the Doctor."

"And while Seth and Roman talked about things that Dean didn't understand at all, Dean reached over and grabbed another cookie," Dean narrated, doing so.

Roman chuckled. "This was nice. I enjoyed it. What should we do now?"

"Christmas movie?" Seth suggested. "Stick to traditions here?"

"I don't have any, I don't think."

"Do you have _Die Hard_?"

Roman gasped. "Dude. You consider _Die Hard_ a Christmas movie too?"

"Of course I do! Who doesn't?"

 _Seth is slowly becoming my favorite person ever. Not quite at Dean's level yet, but damn, this guy is cool_.

"Nothing like celebrating the birth of Jesus like Alan Rickman and explosions everywhere," Dean said. "Pop it in, Ro. Ooh, speaking of pop, let's make Christmas popcorn, too." He finished off the last of the cookies.

"Sure, I can do that," Roman said.

"What makes it Christmas popcorn?" Seth asked.

"Duh. It's almost Christmas," Dean said.

"Fair enough."

Seth helped himself to another beer. Roman made popcorn and prepared glasses of soda for Dean and himself after they finished off their milk. Dean made it through most of the movie before falling asleep. Roman held him tight as the credits rolled.

"You know, I'm thinking about how to make it work tomorrow," Seth said, voice low, but Roman put a finger over his lips.

"Don't want him to hear any of it."

"Right."

Roman carried Dean into his room and placed his sleeping form on the bed. Dean rolled over, grabbing a pillow and pulling it against his body. Roman figured Dean thought it might be him. He tucked Dean under the comforter and kissed his hair, then returned to the living room. Seth was tidying up the dishes and torn wrapping paper.

"What's your plan?" Roman asked.

"Well, we can't have him open the guitar first, because then the rest of the presents will seem kinda lame. The tuner, the capo, and so on. But we can't have him open it last, either, because by the time he gets through the tuner, the capo, and so on, he'll know what his big present at the end is, and the surprise is kinda ruined."

"Good point."

"What I was thinking was, after he opens up all his other gifts, we remove him from the room, open everything related to the guitar that we wrapped, set it all out nice and organized _with_ the guitar and the case, and let him find everything altogether all at once."

"He might have a heart attack at the sight."

"What do you think?"

"It's brilliant. Damn shame we have to ruin all the fine wrapping we did, though."

Seth scoffed. "I wrap like a kindergartner hyped up on a pixie stick."

"Oh, yeah? I've got you beat. I wrap like a _four-year-old_ hyped up on a pixie stick."

"Damn shame we have to ruin it."

"Damn shame."

Seth laughed, then quietly set his empty beer bottles into the trash can beneath the sink. He'd gotten through three during the entire night.

"Damn, you alright?" Roman asked.

"Sure. Never better."

"Not gonna be too hungover to enjoy Christmas, are you?"

"Nah. I've handled myself alright on much more alcohol than this. I'll be fine."

"Didn't take you for a raging alcoholic."

"Yep, I so am. Every time I say I'm going to work or the grocery store, I'm actually going to an AA meeting."

"You need help. Smoke weed instead. Less dangerous to your brain cells."

Seth chuckled. "I'm gonna take a shower and get to bed. I'll see you in the morning, okay, Ro? And thanks again for talking to me earlier. It helped."

Roman waved the fact away. "It was nothing. Just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna be depressed for the entire holiday."

"If it's any consolation, my parents were right about _one_ thing. You're a great guy."

"Thanks. So are you, whether they realize it or not."

Seth opened his arms, and Roman sheathed him in his arms. Maybe he held Seth longer than he anticipated. Maybe he didn't consider falling asleep right here in this spot, holding Seth. Maybe he wondered if Dean was serious about sharing Roman with Seth…and maybe, just maybe, he considered it if Dean were truly serious.

But he didn't know.

He didn't want his heart to be confused.

Seth weakly pulled away first. "Good night, Roman. See you in the morning. Merry Christmas."

"You too, Seth. Sweet dreams of sugar plum fairies and all that."

"These sugar plum fairies better be hot, tell you what."

Seth moved into the bathroom, and Roman joined Dean in bed. As soon as Dean sensed Roman's figure in his sleep, he nestled closer to Roman. In turn, Roman enfolded Dean in his arms, tighter and warmer than any blankets could ever keep him. He felt Dean's hands squeezing his own. Roman kissed Dean's neck. Dean shivered.

He loved Dean. He was very much in love with Dean Ambrose, in love for the first time in his life.

But what the hell was up with these feelings for Seth?

Would they ever leave him be?


	34. Chapter 34

Roman could never explain it, but he was always up early naturally on Christmas morning. A childhood trait that grew up with him. The sun hadn't even ignited the cobalt winter sky when his eyes were open, his brain active after only a moment.

 _It's Christmas_. The thought was warming.

Dean was nowhere near being awake yet. Roman had an idea. He removed himself from the bed slowly, making sure Dean was still under the blanket to stay warm in his chilly bedroom.

He steadily pushed Seth's bedroom door open. He, too, was still fast asleep under his comforter, still dreaming of those hot sugar plum fairies. Roman had a bit of time to himself. He set up the living room as it had been the night before: lamps lighting the area, fireplace warming the air, television playing soft Christmas music. He cracked the blinds a tad so he could watch the sun rise in a little while. Then he turned the kitchen lights on and grabbed the dishes necessary to prepare a great Christmas breakfast. "Great" being everything he had in the pantry, the freezer, and the fridge that counted as breakfast food. Eggs, bacon, frozen waffles, toaster strudels, bagels, toast, biscuits. Between the three of them, they could handle all this food without a bite going to waste.

It would be work, but it was work he was willing to put forth.

Halfway through his preparations—he saved the eggs and bacon for very last, so they wouldn't get cold and "taste like ass", as Dean had once described—a bedroom door creaked open. Roman's heart fluttered since he didn't know who it was, and he was delighted to see either one of them awake. It turned out to be Dean, who gaped through sleepy eyes at the food laid out.

"Morning, babe." It was the first time he used the word with Dean. He liked the way it sounded. "Merry Christmas."

"Wow, are we having company?" Dean asked.

"Nope. This is for all of us."

"We'll be feasting for days. Days!"

"Want to help me?"

"I'd be honored. How can I help?"

"Butter the toast and waffles when they pop up."  
"You got it, chief."

Dean buttered six waffles and six pieces of toast while Roman started on the eggs. A couple of times, Dean would skip across the kitchen to kiss Dean's cheek or hair. After one of these times, Roman caught him just before the kiss, seized him in his arms, lifted him off his feet and kissed him firmly on the lips. Dean looked dazed by the sudden smooch.

"Love doing that to you," Roman said.

"Love it when you _do_ that to me." Dean smiled. Roman caught it withering in the slightest as he broached another statement, "Hey, let me ask you something."

"Sure."

"Do you like Seth?"

Roman stirred the glob of eggs, confused by the question. "Sure, I like Seth. He's a decent fella, I guess."

"Roman."

"What?" Roman took his eyes off the liquefied eggs, moving them onto Dean, who suddenly looked very somber.

"Oh." Roman got it. "Oh, you mean…"

"Yeah. _Like_ like."

"I, uh…" _Don't lie to him. Don't ever get on his ass about being dishonest and keeping secrets, then lie to him, you loser_. "He…" _Now you_ have _to be honest. You've hesitated long enough to give him the truth without saying anything_.

"Roman. It's okay if you do."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not gonna lie. There's times I thought about it. Not much since we got together, of course, but in the past, hell yeah."

Not much "since" they got together?

"He's my best friend. He knows everything about me. _Everything_. Even those little details you don't know about yourself until someone else points them out. He's that guy I could always go to for anything once I met him. Once he figured me out, he figured _all_ of me out. Nobody else in the world besides him—and you—can really say that."

 _How the hell am I jealous? How? After hugging Seth last night and wishing it could last, I'm jealous of this affection Dean has for Seth_? Roman stirred the eggs as they thickened. "I get that."

"He's wonderful. I know you know that. He's a great listener, he sacrifices a lot of things for the sake of the people he loves. He's a hard worker. He's caring and kind and strong in spirit. He's the most selfless guy I've ever met."

"Let me ask you something, then. If you've thought about how you feel—how you _have felt_ —about him before, why didn't you ever get together with him?" It pained Roman to think of them ever being together, Seth stealing Dean away before Roman even had the chance to meet the guy and fall in love with him. _If it hurts this bad to think of them together, I need to push these feelings for Seth as far away as I possibly can. It probably hurts Dean a lot to think I might feel for Seth what I feel for him_.

Dean didn't take long to answer Roman's question. He buttered the last piece of toast and stacked it atop the others. "Because he can do better than me. This is fact."

"Don't say that."

"Both of you could do better than me, Roman. Remember what I told you from the very beginning? I'm fucked up. Not all there in the head. I'm not the strongest, smartest, funniest guy in the world. Hell, I'm not even anywhere near the _nicest_ guy. I can be a real dick sometimes. I can be absent-minded, inconsiderate, selfish."

"Hi, Dean, welcome to being human."

"Just saying. Seth is a great guy, _you're_ a great guy. If the two of you deserve anyone, it's each other. In another dimension, I'm sure you and Seth are a couple. You could call it…Roth or Sethman or something. Reignllins. Rolleigns."

Roman set the spatula down. He was willing to sacrifice the eggs to make a point right here and now. "Guess what, Dean?" He took one of Dean's hands in both of his. "We're _not_ in another dimension. We're in _this_ one. And in this one, I love you so much. I love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone else. I cherish you. You have my heart. You're…you're my everything. We were made for each other. Even if you don't believe in fate, I believe that."

A tear welled in Dean's eye. "I don't deserve you," he said, voice breaking.

Roman crushed Dean in his arms, stroking the back of his head, lips against his ear. "Yes, you do," he whispered. He allowed himself to hold Dean a little while longer before reminding himself to tend to the eggs. He liberated Dean from the hold with one more kiss. He wouldn't realize until later that he never directly answered Dean's question.

Now wasn't the time.

Seth was awake several minutes later, after breakfast had been finished and the table set.

"Merry Christmas, Seth!" Dean cheered.

"Merry Christmas, Dean. Good morning, Roman. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. I made breakfast."

"I see that," Seth said, rubbing his eyes. "It looks delicious."

"Have some toast," Dean said. "I buttered it all by myself."

"You let him have a knife?" Seth joked to Roman.

"Yeah, and he only nicked himself twice with it," Roman said. "Must be a new personal best for him."

"Let's get through breakfast and onto the presents!" Dean said.

"Damn, you're excited for those, huh?" Roman asked, chuckling.

"Yeah. This is, like, my first real Christmas _ever_. You have no idea what this day means to me."

Ah. That was a very true, very touching point. Last Christmas—Roman did the calendar math in his head—Dean was still with the Wyatts. He couldn't imagine what _that_ must have been like. Certainly not merry. Certainly no better than any Christmas he had in California.

No wonder he was acting so giddy, especially about the presents, knowing how _not_ materialistic he was.

Because of this, Roman planned to give him the best damn Christmas ever.

Breakfast was eaten to the tune of "O Tannenbaum" from _A Charlie Brown Christmas_. Sure enough, there was hardly any food to store away in plastic containers. The muscular boys had gotten through a good deal of it before feeling full.

Dean was buzzing. His electricity was contagious. He abandoned his empty plates and silverware on the table, floating towards the tree. Roman gathered the dishes, and Seth helped him get them into the dishwasher. It was full already, the plates and silverware combined with the cooled pans, spatulas and other cooking utensils.

"Come on!" Dean groaned. "It's Christmas! Who cares about dishes?"

"Roman in the morning will," Roman said. He quickly started up the dishwasher. He'd put the clean ones away much later, long after the load was washed. He and Seth joined the overwrought Dean in the living room. Outside, a weak sun ignited the watercolored sky in a pastel pink and orange. The air was cold, but the sky was clear. The only signs of a white Christmas was snow already on the ground the day before. That should have counted as a "white Christmas" for the native Californian.

Dean sat close to the fireplace. His eyes were affixed on the tree. "So, do we pass these out and open them taking turns like last night?"

"That sounds good, but Seth and I need to figure something out first," Roman said. "Dean, would you go into my room for a minute? We'll let you know when you can come out."

"More waiting?" Dean's head rolled back. "Damn. I've been waiting all year."

"Oh, you can survive a few more minutes," Seth said. "Now scoot."

"Fine," he whimpered. Dean trudged into Roman's bedroom. They waited until the bedroom door pressed closed before investigating each of Dean's gifts.

"All the ones related to the you-know-what, stash behind the couch for now," Seth said.

"How do we know which ones relate to the you-know-what?"

"Damn, we should have thought ahead for this one, Ro."

"It's not your fault that your genius only strikes at random intervals."

"True. Okay, this is one of the…things you made, right?" Seth handed over a tiny triangular gift. Roman knew it was the pick he'd carved from Annie's body.

"Yeah." He placed it back under the tree. "One down, several to go."

Seth upheld another present. "I know this is….something different, because I ran out of wrapping paper and had to use printer paper for the rest of it." He returned the gift beside the wrapped pick.

"You using my printer paper? That shit's costly, bro."

"Bill me for it later. And then I'll proceed to tell you to shove that bill up your ass."

Roman laughed.

It took them a little longer than "a few more minutes" to organize the gifts, separating anything they purchased from Guitar Center and Dean's other presents. Roman hoped they were right about each guess. It would suck for Dean to accidentally open the cleaning and polishing cloths and figure it all out.

"Okay, Dean, come on out."

Dean was clearly confused at the diminished size of his gift pile. "Where'd all my shit go?"

"You'll get those back later. It's sort of a package deal," Roman explained.

"Okay. Good enough for me."

Seth and Roman divided the remaining presents between the two of them. They had about an equal number. Dean had far more than both of them, but neither Seth nor Roman were particularly upset about that fact.

"You go first, Dean," Seth said.

"Which one?" Dean asked, eyes inspecting every present individually, like it was the most crucial decision he'd make in his life.

"Any of them," Roman said.

He chose a present from the middle of his row. It was Seth's, the one partially wrapped in printer paper. "My first Christmas present on my very first Christmas. This is amazing."

Roman held up his phone and activated the camera, intending to capture every special moment.

Dean peeled back one layer of wrapping paper and gasped. "Shit, Seth, is this for real?" He pried a small poster frame from the paper. Inside the frame was a photo of the band Pierce the Veil, with silver writing all over the picture. Roman could only guess they were autographs.

"For real, for real. Obviously I didn't track them down and meet them to get them to sign it _myself_ , but I found it online. Hand-signed by all of them."

"This is killer, brother. Thank you so much." He leaned over to give Seth a hug. Roman caught the moment in photo form. He set the poster aside and looked to Roman. "Okay, how about you go next, Ro? And may I _strongly_ suggest the one on your far right?"

Roman obeyed and opened up a Batman action figure. Dean was giggling.

"It's for your desk, because Batman is clearly the best!" he declared.

"Yeah, sure, sure. I'll have to put him up against my Superman action figure and see who comes out on top. Thanks, you guys."

Seth went next, opening a sleek pair of carbon filter Ferrari sunglasses from Roman. "Oh, _yes_ , dude. _Sick_." He wore them for a moment to pose for a picture, then carefully set them aside. "Thank you."

Dean's next present was his first from the desecrated Annie. For a moment Roman panicked. What if Dean was insulted that Roman would use her scraps? Somehow he'd defiled her even more by crafting these gifts from her remains? But the brightness that swept over Dean's face when he opened the bracelet fashioned from the guitar strings proved his anxiety wrong.

"Oh, this is awesome," he said, slipping the bracelet on his wrist. "Did you make this yourself, or order it?"

"I made it myself," Roman answered. "From…" He let Dean fill in the blank for himself.

Dean swallowed hard. "Annie?"

"Yeah. From Annie."

Dean blinked. Was he fighting tears? "Oh, baby girl. I miss you so damn much." He kissed the bracelet, then kissed Roman. "Thanks for helping me keep her alive in spirit. One way or another."

Roman couldn't stand the wait any longer. He nearly asked Dean to skip his and Seth's turns and open all of his at once. But he worked on opening his next present instead, a pair of Doctor Who slippers, checkered with a red bow tie. Belonging to the eleventh doctor.

"Hope you aren't too partial towards Tennant," Seth said, chuckling.

"Nah, these are awesome!" He removed the tags and slipped them on over his socked feet. "Thank you."

Seth admired his next gift, a slick pair of work gloves. "Been needing these for a while. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Dean said.

Seth was baffled. "Look at the guy who never wears a coat when it's cold, getting me gloves for Christmas! Sheesh!"

Dean giggled. He was quiet again seconds later, combating tears when he opened Roman/Cody's present. Cody had painted this piece of Annie blue and white, and scribed the first chorus of "More Than Words" over the piece in curly letters.

Dean touched his head as though it ached. "God…" He sniffed. "This is from her too, I take it?"

"Yeah. Got some help with that one. From Cody."

"My Cody? Or, _our_ Cody, I guess?"

"Cody Rhodes, yeah."

"I've gotta thank him…wow, this is spectacular. He's a hell of an artist." He turned the piece of art over and over again in his hands.

"I'll say. I was blown away when I picked it up."

The rest of Roman's presents complied with his inner—and outer—nerd: a Flux Capacitor bumper sticker for his car, a French press from Seth, a Marvel S.H.I.E.L.D logo zip-up hoodie. Seth's gifts also reflected just how well Dean and Roman truly knew him: a Chicago Bears steering wheel cover, the sequel to _Metal Wars_ , a black shirt that said "Trust me, I'm a mechanic." Dean was losing the fight against his blissful tears with each gift. He opened up the picture frame, the handcrafted pick, and a key holder Seth actually made himself out of the headstock and tuning keys.

"Wish I had more than one key to use on this thing," Dean said.

"Once you get a car, you'll have more use of it," Seth said. "That's what I had in mind when I made it."

"When am I getting a car?"

"Well, it'll have to be soon. You can't rely on Roman and me for rides to work forever. Especially once he goes back to school."

Something came over Dean, a sudden shade of light. Like he was up to something. Roman caught onto it. What was that about?

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I'll get a car here pretty soon."

"It's a smart idea."

"Oh, it's a _grand_ idea."

Seriously. What was he up to?

It was time to give him the guitar.

Roman sent Dean out of the room again. Willingly he went. Roman cleared the floor of wrapping paper and tape, wanting nothing in the way. Seth unwrapped each guitar accessory and positioned them in a neat pile in the middle of the living room floor. Roman gathered that trash and tossed it, too. This had to be perfect.

"Okay," Roman said. "Bring her in."

Seth pulled on a coat and boots and went out to his car to fetch the instrument. When he came back inside, already chilled from the morning air, he asked Roman, "Do we leave it in the case, or out of it? And make the case separate?"

"Make the case separate. I want him to see the actual guitar, very first thing."

"That's what I was thinking, too."

"Great minds think alike and all that."

The glossy, pristine instrument was situated on the ground before the heap of accessories. The case was propped against the wall behind the stockpile.

"Ready?" Seth asked. Amazingly, he slipped his hand into Roman's and gave it a squeeze. He was thrilled. As was Roman. The wait was finally over.

"Ready," Roman said.

"Okay, Dean, you can come out now," Seth called.

The door swung open. Dean shuffled back into the living room.

He stopped frozen, mid-step, at the sight of the gift assemblage.

Roman saw the sun in Dean's eyes. Never before had he seen such brilliance on the face of his love. That sun drowned in fated tears. Dean collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, head drooping, sniffles audible. He looked up, took in another full sight of his gift, then sagged his head again to weep quietly a bit more before crawling towards his new precious, prized guitar.

Roman touched a finger to his eye, effacing a tear. Seth, too, was dabbing at his own eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. This was the epitome of joy, this, what they witnessed now.

Dean's hands caressed the body of the guitar, gentle as a lover's. He took the neck in the lightest of holds and lifted the instrument into his lap. He didn't play it or strum any strings singularly. He just held the guitar for a long, long time, hands positioned as though he'd break into song any minute now.

He finally spoke again. "Caroline."

"Caroline?" Roman asked.

"That's her name. Caroline."

"Did she whisper that to you, just now?" Seth asked, smiling.

"Little bit, yeah. It's like…when you have a kid, and you look at them, you just know what their name is. Even if you picked out a name before they were born, you know just from looking at 'em whether that name is right or not. You don't know it till you see them for the first time."

"I like Caroline," Roman said. "Beautiful, classy name."

"Yeah. I like it, too." He looked up at them, tired, happy eyes, one tear lingering near his jawline. "Guys…I…" He shook his head, eyes falling again to Caroline. "Thank you. She's perfect."

"You're welcome, Dean." Roman lowered to his knees and wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders. Seth bent down and put an arm around each of them.

"Can't wait to see what the first song I play on her is. It's gotta be something really special." He looked up to Roman. "What about one that you write, Ro? Remember? You wrote a song once. Want to do it again? That can be the first ever song I play on her."

Roman was flattered. "Sure, I'd love to. Don't know how good it'll be, but…"

"It'll be great. I believe it."

"You've got it, Dean. I can do that. In fact, I'll do it today so you don't have to wait too long to give her a try."

Dean hugged his guitar, then ever so carefully set her aside to embrace Seth and Roman in a group hug. Christmas wasn't over yet, but his holiday was everything Roman had hoped and dreamed it would be. He knew it. Not bad for a first Christmas.

"Merry Christmas, guys," Dean whispered.

"Merry Christmas," Seth spoke softly back.

"I love you," Roman said. To both of them.


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: This chapter is NOT meant to spark any political debates, nor reflect my own opinions on the issues presented by the end. I'm not trying to be preachy or moralistic and holier-than-thou. This is just how Dean (and Seth) feel about the issue. I feel their opinions are true to their personalities in the story. Enjoy. ^_^**

* * *

 _He's got the sun in his eyes_

 _He's got his head in the clouds_

 _And the world follows behind_

 _Asking what he's up to_

 _But it don't occur_

 _If there's some kinda fate_

 _That guides his walk by the step_

 _'Cause he's going his own way_

 _Now_

 _Chorus:_

 _You get on with life_

 _You're a dashing kinda fella_

 _You like playing guitar on Sunday mornings_

 _Hold me in my sleep_

 _You like to contemplate the sun_

 _And don't ever for a second wonder why_

 _Spirit on the run_

Not bad for a first draft.

While working on his song for Dean, Roman also had his laptop open in front of him. The University of Colorado's website was functioning today, quicker than usual since it didn't have hundreds of students logged onto the network all at once. He scrolled over two separate tabs: a list of recommended classes for his second semester as a junior with his major, and the enrollment sheet used to sign up for whatever classes he decided on.

Calculating his credits, he realized with pain in his head that he'd need to complete another five classes next semester. Perhaps his senior year would require less of him, but right now, he needed to devote himself to five health courses. No electives this time; he'd gotten most of those prerequisites out of the way already. It took him nearly an hour to crank out a schedule. He limited his classes to Mondays and Wednesdays only, so he could use the other days of the week to work—and rest. Going up to the campus five days a week was exhausting. He'd rather have fewer, longer days than several shorter ones.

A peaceful Christmas afternoon existed around him. Seth was captivated by his new game, and he didn't fail to mention whenever he noticed an improvement or new feature compared to the original _Metal Wars_. Dean was alone on the couch, strumming random notes away on Caroline. He hadn't played anything Roman recognized, keeping his word that the first full song he wanted to play on her was Roman's piece.

Roman submitted his choice courses to the website. A confirmation email made his phone buzz beside him. Great. Finished. He sat back in the chair and sighed. "Finally. Who knew staring at a computer screen for an hour was so tiring?"

"What's it look like?" Dean asked, referring to his finalized schedule.

"All health classes. 425: Instructional Methods in Health Education. 435: Epidemiological Basis of Diseases. 220: Sexuality in a Diverse Society. 208: Mental Health/Stress/Crisis. And 405: Drugs in Our Culture."

"Wow. That sounds like quite the workload," Seth remarked.

"Sounds like it's either gonna be really boring or really fascinating," Dean said.

Roman closed his laptop and recovered his pen. "Either way, I have to put up with it, so let's hope it's the latter."

"Oh, shit," Seth said, laughing. "Oh, guys, check this out. You know how you have the flamethrower class in the original?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Pyro," Dean said. "What about it?"

"Well, Sergeant Pyro must have had a secret love child with Captain Cold or something, because there's a class you can unlock called 'A Song of Fire and Ice' where you can have pyrokinesis _and_ ice manipulation."

"How does that work?" Dean asked.

"The game isn't based on logic. Just accept the awesome."

"You know who Captain Cold is?" Roman asked.

"Yeah. From _The Flash_ , right?"

"Yeah. Good job."

"Hey, it's not because I'm an expert on all superheroes, though. I've seen him on the CW show."

"I figured, but I was about to be really impressed."

"Are you still impressed I'm at least aware of his existence?"

"Partially."

Something exploded on the TV, and Seth nearly threw his controller in the air. "This class is _sick_! I just made that guy explode by turning him completely to ice, then launching a missile at him."

"This series is every boy's fantasy rolled into one game," Roman said.

"Hell yeah it is, dude, and it's awesome!"

Roman returned his attention to the song. He wasn't sure how patient Dean could be.

 _He's got eyes full of stars_

 _The moonlight in his hair_

 _I've been waiting all night_

 _And he's finally there_

 _Universe put on hold_

 _God will just have to wait_

 _As he walks through the doors and_

 _Determines his own fate_

 _Now_

 _Chorus_

Roman wanted more. He needed a bridge to lead into one more powerful chorus, then draw to a close with the slashing of Dean's pick against Annie's—Caroline's—strings. He could already hear Dean singing this.

 _Doesn't play by the rules, no, he wrote them_

 _Then decided to break them anyway_

 _He captured, enslaved me, I adore him_

 _In the way that he locks me afar and away_

 _I'm safe here, don't let go_

 _You're safe here, don't let go_

 _Whatever you do, don't let go_ …

 _Chorus_

Roman glanced over his words, hoping they were good enough for his musician, if the point that he wanted to make in the lyrics came across in the right translation. He liked the idea of Dean existing as his own deity, existing in a world he didn't create yet ran on his own. In charge of his decisions, his own fate, judged only by the consequences of his actions. That was what Dean believed.

Roman believed in God. But he also believed in Dean.

And he sure loved that Dean.

"Alright, babe," Roman said, delivering his notebook to Dean. Dean tucked the pick—the one Roman made him, the box of picks from Guitar Center left unopened as of now—between his lips and took the composition book in hand.

"I like it," he said after only a few seconds. Must have been a fast reader. That or he was obligated to like anything Roman wrote, even if it was complete shit. "It's about me, I take it?"

"Well…" Roman grinned.

"So I'm singing about myself as someone else. More specifically, you. Interesting." Dean scooted to the floor, notebook open in front of him. He crossed his legs and perched his guitar in his lap, the strap—an unusual sight, considering he never used one with Annie—draped over his shoulder.. Roman remembered how he'd responded to the first song he wrote: strumming spontaneous chords on his instrument, trying out different ways to sing each line, repeat each word in a different key until it worked.

Roman left Dean to his craft. He didn't have any fancy options for a Christmas lunch/early dinner, not like at the Rollins's house, but he had several frozen dinners he could heat up and _pretend_ they were fancy. Nobody in this apartment needed an ornate dinner to be happy. Roman grabbed three of the boxed meals from the freezer: chicken biryani, roasted turkey breast and stuffing, and white cheddar mac and cheese. They could all split these meals between the three of them.

The closer Dean got to completing the song, the louder his voice grew with each repeat of the lyrics. Roman didn't realize just how badly he missed listening to Dean play his guitar, sing in that celestial voice of his, until listening in now.

He placed one of the meals in the microwave to cook, the other in the oven, and left the mac and cheese out to thaw while waiting for the other two to finish heating up. Then he sat in the living room, on the carpet close to Dean.

"Okay, I think I've got it," Dean said. "I'm a little rusty, so bear with me."

"Take your time."

Seth paused his game.

Dean kicked off the lyrics. There it was. That's what Roman had been missing so much. His carrying voice. His fingers over those strings. The soft smile playing on his lips just as his hands played the guitar. His oceanic eyes glancing over each verse to ensure he didn't miss one word.

And he didn't.

Roman could feel himself falling in love all over again, and again, hearing Dean's voice, remembering just why he ended up falling for the Lunatic in the first place. He was hungry, thirsty, longing for more, so much more, even though he _had_ everything and more with Dean.

Dean went into his own improvised solo at the end of the song, then looked to Roman for confirmation. "So?"

"I fucking love you, Ambrose."

Dean grinned. A blush crept to his cheeks. "You liked it?"

"Of course I did. _God_ , I missed hearing you play, my _God_."

"I missed playing. More than you missed hearing me play, probably."

"That was _fast_ ," Seth said, jaw unhinged. "Can't believe it only took you, what, fifteen minutes or so to put music to that? Well done. And Roman, excellent lyrics. Pierce the Veil has nothing on you."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Roman laughed.

The oven timer beeped.

"Dinnertime?" Dean asked, hopeful.

"Almost. Have to cook the macaroni first, and then everything'll be ready."

Three and a half minutes later, the food was ready. Roman set the table and added a touch of "embellishment" to the third-rate Christmas dinner with three glasses of wine. It was a dessert wine, so even someone with a mad sweet tooth like Dean could enjoy it.

"This has seriously been the best Christmas ever," Dean said at the table. "The best Christmas I ever had before this one was the Christmas after my dad was sentenced to prison. We were poor and we didn't do much, but at least nobody was drunk."

As Roman divided up servings, Seth patted Dean on the shoulder.

"But now, _this_ one gets to be at the top. And if the two of you can find a way to make next Christmas even better, I'll be set."

"Next year, I'll buy you a boat," Roman said, chuckling. "That should up this year."

"Nah, but a _car_ , though. That would be sweet. That's sort of what I'd been expecting to get before you showed me Caroline."

"You thought we got you a car?" Seth asked.

"Of course I did. You guys happened to mention getting me a car someday while we were opening presents, and when you said all those gifts were a package deal, I thought they were all car accessories. But I much preferred my guitar."

"I guess I could see that," Roman said. No wonder he'd looked so smug after that particular conversation. He took a sip of wine. It was almost too sweet for him to enjoy. Almost. "Well, a car is definitely in your future, anyway. But first, you need to learn how to drive. Get a Colorado driver's license."

"I have a Colorado driver's license."

"A Colorado license with your updated information and _isn't_ stolen by the Wyatts," Seth pointed out.

Dean scooped a hunk of macaroni into his mouth. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Probably should get back to that DMV eventually, then."

Dean took the end of that conversation and spun it into another, completely unrelated. "Seth, are you sure you want me to hold onto that money your dad gave you?"

"Absolutely." Seth fixed eyes on his food, carving into the sliver of turkey breast with his fork.

"There's four-hundred bucks in there. I don't even know what I'd do with it."

"Don't care."

"Okay, let's think practically," Roman said. "I know your dad gave it to you with really cruel intentions, but we can still put it to good use for _our_ family."

"I guess you're right. Rent or something."

"Wait, what about cruel intentions?" Dean questioned.

Roman glanced at Seth. Was he going to reveal how Seth's parents truly felt about Dean, just moments after Dean declared this the best Christmas of his life?

"Just my father being a dick, that's all," Seth said, dismissing it.

Roman was relieved.

"But it's Dean's money now, so he can do with it what he wants."

"I'll use it practically. I promise. Some of it, anyway."

"What did you plan to do about the rest?" Roman queried.

He watched Dean inspect the apartment. He looked from the living room, the TV and the fireplace and Seth's Xbox; to the kitchen, a stocked kitchen and pantry; back towards the bedrooms, with blankets and pillows, a warm and soft place to lay his head every night. What was he thinking?

"Is it cold outside?" Dean asked.

"Uh, probably?" Seth ventured a guess. He checked the temperature on his phone. "Thirty-eight degrees, partly cloudy. Chance of snow, forty percent."

"I know what I want to do with the rest."

* * *

Dean answered no questions. Even if he asked, Roman felt he wouldn't get anything more than a vague statement, a Yoda-like approach to whatever Dean was up to without a direct response. He simply told Roman and Seth to bundle up and drive him downtown. They didn't have to join him—on whatever adventure this was—but he appreciated the ride.

Since a hundred percent of the downtown businesses were closed for the day, parking was available and free.

The air was frozen outside, still and chilled. Roman wished he'd brought a hat along to cover his ears. His long black hair wasn't doing the trick on its own. Seth was sporting his new Chicago Bears beanie and work gloves. He hadn't taken the order to "bundle up" lightly…like Dean had. The guy stayed in Roman's sweater with only a windbreaker that Roman was certain didn't even belong to him, but rather Seth. No gloves, no boots; just jeans and tennis shoes. _Add those to the list of late Christmas presents to get, along with Randy's, Dolph's, Neville's, and Cody's_.

This was Roman's first Christmas where he had to buy more than one (obligatory) gift, for his roommate.

Dean led the way, knowing where he was going. Even sheafed in winter wear, Roman found Seth was shivering, trailing slightly behind the keyed up Dean.

"You alright?" Roman asked.

"Sure. It's like being dragged to your kid's best friend's birthday party supervise. You wish you were anywhere else, but you love your kid and wanna be there for him."

"Probably the best analogy I've heard you use to describe Dean. Wonder what's going on at this birthday party."

"Hope it's a quickie."

Acacia Park was around the next block. Dean seemed to be heading there. He approached the stage which hosted a series of concerts in the spring and summertime, and mobs of homeless people for the rest of the year. Watching Dean advance towards the cluster of poor, shivering drifters was unsettling, and Roman and Seth were quick to catch up to him. Who knew what any of these guys were capable of?

"Merry Christmas!" Dean hollered.

Sleepy heads turned towards him.

Dean fished several twenties out of the envelope with cold fingers. "I know there ain't a lot of places open today, but hold onto these for me until tomorrow. Then treat yourself to a hot chocolate or a new sweater from Goodwill or something, okay, guys? No booze."

Six pairs of eyes blinked in confusion, but Dean handed a twenty-dollar bill to each of them. One of them turned out to be a woman, and she shook Dean's hand and sobbed through her "thank you." Two of them said, "God bless." Another stood up and gave Dean a tight hug. Dean patted his back.

Seth and Roman smiled at one another. They imagined how Dean felt, once one of these homeless folks, starving in the cold, nowhere to go and nobody to see. Dean felt for them. He related to them.

"Merry Christmas," Dean said, hopping off the stage. His greeting was received with a round of extra "thank you"s and "Merry Christmas"es.

He next approached a man sleeping under a ratty comforter on a park bench. He tucked the twenty beneath one of the folds in the blanket, then scurried off before the man stirred.

"If I ever gave anything to a homeless person, I always wanted it to be food or something," Seth said. "Giving them money kinda concerns me that they'll use it on booze or drugs."

"A lot of them do," Dean admitted. "But a lot of them don't. That's on them. Their choices is _theirs_. It's in _your_ heart what you're doing for them and nothing beyond that point. Good intentions don't go unnoticed _all_ the time."

"Very insightful," Roman said. He couldn't feel his face. He hoped Seth wouldn't suffer from hypothermia again. He appreciated Dean's good intentions, but the three of them couldn't stay out here much longer. It would be dangerous here in a little while.

There were no street musicians out in this weather; however, near the area where Roman found Dean playing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas", there was a man with long greying hair and a matching mustache, sitting against a concrete barrier with a guitar case propped up next to him. Dean approached, hands in his pockets. As warm as his heart was, the rest of his body wasn't feeling it.

"Excuse me, sir, do you have a permit to be lingering in this area?" Dean asked in a deep, mocking authoritative voice.

The man looked up and chuckled, flashing a set of yellow, rotting teeth. He lifted to his feet and tackled Dean in a tight hug.

"Ambrose, back from the dead. How've you been, man? _Where've_ you been?"

"Locked up. Brunette bitch got me again."

"For real?"

"No, dude, I found a home in the spring. I told you this. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah…my memory ain't what it used to be."

"What the hell are you doing back out here, Jake? Don't tell me I slammed your car into a wall in vain."

"Nah, you sure didn't. Worked for a while. Got into housing after that, actually, and got a job."

"Oh?"

"Fired after three weeks. Failed a random drug test."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Ups and downs, part of life. It's all good."

"See, you should listen to me one of these days. Get high on life itself. It's the only drug you need."

"Too late for me to be that optimistic, kid. But I'm glad to hear that you're doing well."

Dean twisted his body to Seth and Roman. "Guys, this is Jake Roberts. We played together a few times when I was living out here. Jake, this is my buddy Seth and my boyfriend Roman."

"Ah. Boyfriend, eh? Suspected as much."

"Nice to meet you," Seth mumbled. Roman could tell he was a bit unnerved.

"So Jake," Dean said, fishing for the envelope in his pocket, "if I gave you a bit of cash, you promise you won't blow it on weed or nothing?"

"I promise." Jake's sagging eyes twinkled as Dean surrendered a twenty-dollar bill. He cradled it like a baby. "What's this for, Dean?"

"It's Christmas. Season of giving."

"I don't need it, son…you don't have to…"

"Clearly, you do."

"Well, thank you. That's mighty kind of you. And hey, if you're making surprise visits, you ought to bring Annie along with you next time, and we can jam together."

"Annie, uh…passed away." Dean was swaying from side to side, shifting weight from hip to hip. Was he trying to keep warm? Or getting flustered?

"Oh, no kidding? I'm so sorry to hear that, Dean."

"Hey, no worries. I've got a new gal now. Her name's Caroline."

"Oh, Caroline. Okay. I like that. We should definitely set her up on a date with Gabby Grace."

"Deal, Jake. I'll be back. I haven't disappeared forever."

"Good. Nice to see a smiling face around here for once. People are just so spiteful these days."

"Tell me about it. It's up to us to keep the candle lit in the world, right? Gotta represent the good that's left."

"You're crazy."

"But I ain't evil."

"That's a fact."

"Dean," Seth tried, not wanting to impose, not wanting to stick around.

"Yeah, I get it. Jake, I've gotta go. But it was really good to see you."

"Of course, Ambrose, you too. You take care of yourself. Watch out for Wyatt, alright?"

"Shit, we have a lot to catch up on. But I'll be back," he said again.

Just as he led the way to Acacia Park, Dean also guided the boys back to Roman's car, but at a much slower pace. Roman held both his hands, squeezing them in the warm fabric of his gloves. They were red now, stiff as icicles.

"Way to make all those people's days, Dean," Seth said. "That was nice of you."

"Yeah. You can keep the rest, Roman. Use it for rent or whatever we were talking about before."

"Thank you," Roman said

Dean was more talkative on the ride home than he'd been on the drive up here. He stared out the window in the backseat.

"I'm spoiled rotten. Didn't use to be. Never thought I'd be living in a decent place with people who care about me. Who _I_ care about."

"You're very fortunate," Roman said. The heater was blasting warm air, filling the car quickly.

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "I really deserve it, after all the crap I've put up with in my life."

"You do," Roman insisted. "After getting screwed over by the universe so many times, it's about time it treats you well."

"I don't believe in that, remember? I believe in the universe doing its thing, but it doesn't get to decide what I do with my life. I do. It makes me feel kinda rotten that I managed to get the sun shining on my life, and so many others out there don't get shit."

"Dean, don't do this," Seth said, sounding more irritated than pleading.

 _Don't do what_? Roman wondered.

"We've been through this before," Seth continued. "Shit happens to everyone. Good things can go down without explanation just like bad things can. Not everyone _chooses_ to be homeless. But sometimes, the consequences of their actions lead them down that road. It sucks, but it can't be helped for every single homeless guy in the country. Otherwise it wouldn't be a nationwide problem."

"It wouldn't be a problem if the damn government would take care of their own. Learn how to acknowledge that poor people are people, too."

"Dean, don't get into this preachy, political bullshit again, okay? I get it. Homelessness sucks. Humans have rights, everyone deserves opportunities, I get that. But nobody's perfect. Sooner or later, you're bound to fuck up. It's not what happens to you. It's what you do about it. You know who told me that? You."

"And I believe that. But life isn't fair."

"I know it's not. But that doesn't mean you have to subject yourself to that again to prove you care about all of them."

 _Subject himself_? "What's he talking about, Dean?" Roman asked.

"Roman—"

"No," Seth said. "It's dangerous and stupid and I don't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me, Seth. I made it for a long time out there on my own."

"Dean, do you want to go _back_ to the streets?" Roman asked, incredulous. _Oh, no, no, please God, no_ …

"Not forever. Just for a night. It helps me feel better."

"He did this about once a month when we were living together, just us," Seth said. "Back then, I didn't really get him. So I let him do his thing and hoped he wouldn't freeze to death overnight. But now…"

"Dean, I have to agree with Seth. Spending even one night out there in this kind of weather…it's way too dangerous."

"If they can do it, I can do it. I've done it before."

"You can't save everyone, Dean," Seth said. "And this isn't gonna save anyone for damn sure."

"I'm not trying to save them all. In fact, I'm pretty happy in this life if I learned I've somehow saved _one_ person."

"You saved me," Roman reminded him.

" _And_ me," Seth said.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, sure, that's awesome and everything, but I'm not a guy who lives to be spoiled. I can relate to those people sleeping on that stage in that park so much. I pity them. I wish they'd made better choices in their lives. I wish the system didn't fuck them over. Because you're right, Seth. Shit happens. Sometimes it's not even a choice. Sometimes life just bones you. And there's no reason for it."

"Which goes completely against your belief that you make it your own in this world, right? That the universe doesn't have a say in it?"

"The universe has a say in everything. It's the universe. Doesn't mean you have to listen."

Roman pulled the car into the apartment complex.

"I'll sleep in your bed tonight, Roman. But tomorrow night? I'm having a slumber party in Acacia Park."

"Dean. Please." Roman squeezed his hand. "Just stay. Stay home with us. I want to take care of you."

Dean pursed his lips, eyes ablaze with compassion for another. "I love that about you, Roman. You take care of others. You protect the people you love. You want what's best for everyone in your life. And I respect that. But I was raised to take care of myself. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. I'm not unwilling to let you protect me. But there are times when I'm given a reminder of who I am. And I never want to let that go."

Roman looked to Seth, standing on the other side of the car, wondering what his next argument against this decision would be. But Seth just rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was done debating. Perhaps it was a lost cause.

Dean was crazy, but his commitment to what he believed in, including himself, was refreshing in a way. Roman just wished it didn't mean losing him for a night to the world Dean came from long before Roman and Seth had the opportunity to save him.

"Alright," Roman said. "But be careful."

"I always am. Don't you worry your pretty little head about me, Ro."


	36. Chapter 36

"He's an idiot."

Seth walked all four corners of the living room, hands shifting from his hips to rubbing through his hair. Roman was on the couch, following Seth in sight.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Seth said, partly to Roman, partly to himself. "Especially those first few months we were living together? He seemed to spend an equal amount of time on the streets, out and about with his guitar, than he did with me at home."

"Back then you didn't worry so much," Roman said. He was dumbfounded at his own stillness. Somehow watching Seth tiptoe on the line between composure and mania helped him keep a bit calmer. "You didn't know him as well. You didn't know his story. You didn't…" Roman rubbed his lips together, already feeling contrite about things he'd yet to say. "You didn't love him back then."

Seth slowed his pace to a stand in the middle of the room. "Sometimes loving him is a pain in the ass."

"I know." Didn't he ever.

"I just thought that, once he met you, once you—another normal, rational human being—played such a major role in his life, he'd settle down. His mind would take it easy. He wouldn't be so stupid as to willingly spend the night in the cold to prove a point that nobody's even arguing with him about."

"You were arguing with him."

"Just because I have a different opinion than he does, doesn't mean I think he's _wrong_. I think it's wrong of him to risk his own safety and health like this, not because he feels sorry for the homeless." Seth drew his phone from his pocket and frowned at the glow of the screen. "No calls or texts," he said with a sigh. One thing that had won a compromise on with Dean: he'd been against bringing anything with him except Caroline. They'd convinced him to bring his phone. He didn't have to use it; they just wanted it on his person in case something happened. "Weather says it's eighteen degrees outside. It's not gonna get any warmer. He's an idiot."

"But he's our idiot."

"He's _your_ idiot."

"In a way, he's yours, too. He's your best friend."

"Pain in the ass," Seth said again.

"I know. We deal."

Seth had tired himself out from all the pacing. He lowered himself to the couch. One cushion separated him from Roman. "Just thought that you'd help him be a little more…"

"Normal?"

"I was gonna say careful, but yeah, normal works too. You're a pretty normal guy, Roman, and I hope you don't take that the wrong way, because I mean no offense."

"None taken. Jerk."

Seth smiled. "How the hell are you such a good guy?"

"I'm not good. I just…do my own thing. Live my life, let others live theirs, judge only if you're an asshole."

It made Seth chuckle.

"I've got plans. I've always been a planner. I'm not spontaneous like Dean. I picked my college major before I took my ACTs. Got a job at Java Central three weeks after I turned eighteen. Made arrangements to move in with my old friend Phil. He slept with my ex, so I kicked him out, and Randy moved in." He was surprised at how much it _didn't_ hurt to talk about it now. "In May I'll be seventy-five percent done with college. Hopefully land an internship at a hospital somewhere. Graduate. Get some connections with that hospital to work at a different hospital, or that one, if they like me."

"Wow. You really _do_ have it all figured out."

"I have trouble adapting to change. That's the flaw in my organized personality."

"So Dean coming into the picture _really_ threw you off."

"Eh. Wasn't too bad. I was surprisingly adaptable to that. Plus, with Dean came you, and you kinda help balance out that instability he carries into the room with him."

"I try to be as normal as possible. Don't have a plan like you, but I'm better than sleeping out in the streets in the middle of winter."

"Come on. You can't say you've never done something crazy, just for the hell of it."

Seth rubbed his chin. "One semester in college—the first one—I tried going out for the college's basketball team. It was miserable. That's as crazy as I like to go."

Roman laughed. "That doesn't count."

"I got drunk at a high school homecoming game and tried to pick up this girl."

"That's a little warmer."

"Her boyfriend beat the shit out of me."

"Oh, damn."

Seth mirrored Roman's single shoulder shrug. "It happens. But I don't know…being around you, your personality, your attitude on life…knowing that things _do_ happen for a reason—don't care what Dean says—and trying to embrace life every single day instead of once in a while, like on a holiday when we're supposed to be thankful and giving and blessed and all that…makes me _excited_ to be living my life for once. Helps me realize maybe I don't have it all figured out, but I will someday, and it's gonna be fun to explore."

"There you go."

"So thanks for that."

"Hey, that credit goes to you. I'm just sorta here."

Seth's voice abated. "I'm glad you're here."

As did Roman's. "I'm glad _you're_ here. Still technically my place, after all."

Seth smiled.

It was getting warm in the apartment. Too warm. "Uh," Roman said, pushing off the couch to turn off the fireplace for a few minutes. "Did you want to play _Metal Wars II_ or something?"

"Nah. I played it all day yesterday and all night. Don't wanna burn out on it so soon."

"Okay. Wanna watch a movie?"

Seth noticed the shift in Roman's mood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just feeling a little anxious. Trying to get my mind off…Dean." _Or get my mind_ on _him. Remember that he still exists, we're still together, and there's no way I can be feeling this warm and happy with Seth to thank_.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, sure, a movie sounds good."

"You pick. I'll make popcorn. Want a beer?" Roman asked on his way to the kitchen. Realizing what a dumb idea that was, he blurted, "Or a soda. We have soda."

"I'll take Coke. Do we have Coke?"

"We should. Have to look for it."

Seth didn't browse the movie options. He followed Roman into the kitchen. "Roman, what's going on? And don't you dare say nothing, because I've learned how to see past Dean's lies over the years, and he's a pro. You're a shitty liar."

Roman had the fridge pulled open. Seth stood before him, awaiting the explanation. He felt cornered. His neck shivered with a cold sweat. His hands felt heavy. _No. Not an anxiety attack. Not here_.

He scrambled for something, anything to fill the room with something other than the truth. "Yeah. I'm a bad liar, I know."

"We were having a great conversation not a minute ago, and suddenly you're acting all…flustered."

"I can't tell you," Roman tried.

But Seth wouldn't give up that easily. "What can't you tell me? Something I said? Did I upset you?"

"No, Seth, you didn't." Roman couldn't—and wouldn't—lie. But how to be honest about something like this? He'd endured these developing feelings for a long time now. They weren't anything he could deny, at least not to himself. But how could he be the guy to declare, " _I know you're my boyfriend's best friend and everything, but you're irresistible and wonderful. Kiss me_ "?

Perhaps if Seth figured it out on his own, Roman would feel less guilty.

"How the hell are _you_ such a good guy?" Roman asked. He took a breath, summoning strength from an unknown source to power his words. "How do you spend every day with a guy you care so much about and not just leave? How are you such a faithful, devoted, loving, caring friend, even in your anger? Why are you so _amazing_?"

Seth chewed the inside of his cheek. Not quite there yet. "I'm not amazing, Roman."

"Yes, you are. I don't think Dean fully appreciates it at all times. I think he _thinks_ he does—and maybe sometimes he really does—but you're someone who is taken for granted way too often, and your resilience against that kind of thoughtlessness just…impresses me. I know Dean isn't a thoughtless person. I know he loves you. And I can see why. I can see how. You're a damn good person, Seth Rollins. You're willing to overlook the broken gate that is Dean Ambrose and admire the garden of flowers that is his spirit."

"I've never heard that before. I like it."

Roman closed his eyes. Did he really have to divulge this? Maybe not. Maybe there was time to get over it, move on before it got out. Or maybe he could get it out in the open so his feelings could be resolved. Seth would reject him, and Roman could appreciate his relationship with Dean all the more. Happily ever after.

Quick decisions were never Roman's strong point.

"Never mind, Seth. This is stupid." Roman walked out of the kitchen. Seth was behind him, relentless.

"Roman, you're going on and on, all to say what, exactly? What's your point? You were doing well, I just…I don't understand."

"I don't either. I don't understand how I'm someone who's never been in love before—true, real, genuine, agonizing, terrifying, wonderful love—and now that I've got it, now that I'm the happiest guy in the freaking _world_ , I don't understand how it's logically and psychologically possible for me to experience those sort of feelings—muted, but living—for anyone else. For a damn good person. Like you."

Even from the space between them, Roman could sense Seth's heartbeat picking up. His beautiful brown eyes surging. The slight tingling inside at this newfound information, for Roman could feel that as well.

"You, uh…" Seth's tongue ran over his lips. "You're…in—"

"No, not in." Roman wanted to make that perfectly clear. He hadn't fallen for Seth. He was just packing a lunch for the road trip there. "Just…I like you. I'm attracted to you. I have a—" Roman interrupted himself to swallow against the great lump swelling in his throat. "Crush on you."

Seth's mouth hung slightly ajar. He took each shaky breath through his parted teeth. "Roman, I—"

"You don't need to do it, Seth. I get it. I guess I'm not as good of a person as you said I was. I feel so fucking rotten for feeling this way. And I didn't want it to get complicated, I didn't want to lose my friendship with you or my relationship with Dean…I really shouldn't have said anything. A shitty lie is better than this miserable truth."

"Roman."

Roman sighed to end his vent.

"You're not a rotten person."

"Yeah?" Roman challenged. "Tell that to my brain. My heart. I feel sick." He truly did. His belly whisked with acid. _Why the hell did I have to say_ anything?

"Look. If there's anything I do know in life, it's feelings are a bitch. Everyone has them. You have certain ones for certain people, but that's all they are. Feelings. They pass. They go away, and you can move on with your life. You haven't tried anything with me. We haven't kissed, we haven't fucked…just because you're telling me this doesn't mean you haven't screwed up in your relationship with Dean. It's _acting_ on it that's the sin." Seth closed his eyes and chuckled softly. "Sounded like my father there for a second."

"So…there's really nothing to worry about?" Saying it didn't help Roman believe it.

"Of course not. Roman, you're _awesome_ , and I'm really flattered that someone like you would actually _feel_ something for someone like me." Seth lifted his hand, as though to touch Roman's arm, but he decided against it, lowering it back to his side. "And to tell you the truth…sometimes it's not easy for me to see the two of you together."

Roman's heart plopped into the whisking acid. "You're…jealous?"

"Of course." He said it like Roman shouldn't have believed otherwise. "I see how happy the two of you are together. Makes me crave that kind of happiness, too."

"Oh. So you're just jealous of the concept of a relationship and our happiness. Not because you like me."

Guilt washed over Seth's face, staining him red.

Roman was incredulous. "You like me."

"I like _both_ of you," Seth confessed, voice raised. "You were brave and honest with me, so let me return the favor, even though it makes me feel about as great as you feel right now. Dean's like my soulmate. He's my better half. Not better in that I think he's a better person than me, but a _different_ side of me. All the things I'm afraid to do, he goes for. All the things I hate, he gives it a try, for the hell of it. He might be an idiot, he might be reckless and he might be a liability with legs, but he's the most sincere person I've ever met. Sounds weird, coming from someone who was given a completely different name when we first met. But that wasn't because he wanted to lie. He did it to protect me, to protect himself. Look at how far he went to save us from the Wyatts. He didn't give a damn about his own personal safety as long as it meant we were okay."

Roman was surprised and amazed with himself for not feeling jealous once through Seth's entire admission.

Seth paused to take some merited breaths. He looked ready to pass out. "Then, there's you. I mean, you've gotta be…the epitome of a partner. Loyal. Caring. Strong. Smart. Sensible. Laid-back. Funny. Cute? Can I admit that? Oh, fuck it all, you're goddamn _gorgeous_ , Roman." Seth ran his hands over his face. "In a way, you're also my better half. Another side of me. Someone with goals, a sense of purpose in life, leadership skills, unafraid. You're everything I wish I was, for all the right reasons. And Dean is someone I wish I was, for all the wrong reasons." Seth held his hands apart. "You're polar opposites. Yet together…" He moved his hands together, clasping his fingers. "You're this…embodiment of love. Sounds really fucking cheesy, but it's what it is."

Roman blinked back tears. This was real. Seth at his rawest. Everything he was saying took courage, took heart. And there was a plethora of heart here.

"I love you both so much," Seth said, voice drained, mind defeated. "And it just sucks that I get to have both of you…yet not have either of you."

Roman opened up his arms. Seth fell limply into his hold, which strengthened to bear his weakness. He held him for a long time. No other actions. No movements that could be read as instigation.

"He loves you," Roman said.

"What?"

Roman didn't let up on his hold. "Dean admires you so much, Seth. He called you a great listener, a hard worker, selfless. Caring, kind, strong in spirit."

Seth sniffed. Was he crying? "He said all that?"

"Yeah. And it's true. He said he never tried to get with you because he thinks you can do better than someone like him."

"Someone like him? Does he not get that there's gotta be meaning behind me putting up with all his shit this past year?"

"Remember, he's loony. He also thinks I deserve better than him."

"Now _that's_ loony. Like I said. You guys together…it just makes sense."

Roman released Seth. Seth dabbed at his eyes. That answered Roman's question. Now he had another.

"What are we gonna do?"

It took a little while for Seth to answer. "Nothing. There's nothing we _can_ do. I'm not getting in the way of this."

"He deserves to know how you feel. Just because he wasn't here for Honesty Hour doesn't mean we should leave him out of it. Keeping something like this from him would feel really seditious."

Seth cocked an eyebrow.

"Treacherous," Roman defined.

"Ah. Yeah. I guess so. But everyone's entitled to a little privacy. Even from the people you love. That's why I never opened my mouth until tonight. You didn't even have to get a beer in me." Seth chuckled humorlessly.

"I know everyone's got secrets. Rightfully so. We're humans with rights to ourselves, after all. But Seth. I can't keep this from him."

"You know the second you bring this up, he might suggest the three of us all being together. Simple as that."

Roman's head tilted. "Would he?"

"I don't know. He's irrational. I don't know what he'll do. Assuming he doesn't freeze to death out there tonight."

"He shouldn't. He can't."

"He could, but he won't. I trust him."

"I have faith in him."

"And he has faith in you. And in me." Seth reached out and took Roman's hand in a hold. It wasn't like when Dean held his hand, when he felt giggly and buzzing and warm inside. This was more like the protective hold of a close friend, backed up by assurance.

"So here's what we're going to do, if you really need closure. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. You're going to get some sleep and hold your pillow to make up for the missing Ambrose in your bed tonight. We'll wake up in the morning and do what we always do. Live day by day and get ready for whatever comes next." Seth's thumb stroked over Roman's. His chocolate eyes melted into Roman's. Now the familiar buzzing and warmth was coming out to play. "I'm leaving it up to you what to tell Dean. You can tell him anything you're comfortable with, including all the things I said. He may be an idiot, but there's no way he can't have some idea about it."

"Maybe."

"And I want you to promise me you won't feel anxious and stressed out all night. Nothing's going to happen to us. We're not gonna get all awkward and weird, and I'm not moving out. You won't lose me no matter what. And you're damn sure not gonna lose Dean. I've never seen him look at anyone else the way he looks at you. Trust me, if I wasn't the best thing to ever happen to him, meeting you was."

Roman felt like collapsing on the floor and sobbing. Out of joy, out of misery, out of anger, out of everything he was feeling all at once. Like oil and water, they just weren't mixing; just taking up room in his heart and existing in unison.

Seth squeezed Roman's hand. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good." Seth exhaled sharply. "Wish you weren't so handsome, though. Seriously." He let go of Roman's hand. "Good night, Roman."

"Good night, Seth."

Roman waited until Seth was in the bathroom, door closed, before retiring to his own bedroom.

He tried to sleep. Tried to keep his word to Seth. Couldn't. He rolled over and held his pillow tight to his body. The material was cold and scratchy. He couldn't pretend it was Dean. It was just a pillow.

 _How did I ever get a restful night's sleep before that lunatic came into my life_?

At some point sleep found him, but it wasn't peaceful nor revitalizing. For the first time in his life, he wasn't excited about the things to come. This hadn't been part of the plan, and it scared him more than anything. Even the Wyatts. Even Abigail, still out there in the world, most likely planning revenge against the people who took everything away from her.

No, not even Abigail.


	37. Chapter 37

**FIRST OF ALL: you guys are amazing. No, seriously. Reviews do make me happy, but the support I got following the last chapter was overwhelming. This story is my heart and soul, my baby, one of my finest projects, and the fact that I have so much support not just with this particular story, but as a writer in general, is so encouraging. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.**

 **NOW. This deliciously fluffy, romantic chapter is one of the longer ones of the story. Hope y'all don't mind. ;) I felt the boys did deserve a bit more happiness in their lives before things start to go south again.. But let's not focus on that now. For now, just enjoy some solid Ambreigns~**

* * *

Roman woke up alone in the apartment. Seth must have left for work.

He didn't have to report to his own job until later in the afternoon, giving him the chance to head downtown and pick up Dean. The morning was cold but clear, sun brilliant in the ice-blue sky. The weather shouldn't have been insufferable anymore as it had been last night. Still, Roman was itching to get Dean out of that park. He hoped sleeping on the streets again was a one-time, impulsive thing and now that he'd gotten it out of his system, Dean could come home and sleep in his bed tonight.

He didn't have to execute a full manhunt throughout downtown Springs to find Dean. In fact, Roman parked his car after spotting Dean exactly where Roman had dropped him off fourteen or so hours ago: on the stage in the middle of the park.

And he wasn't alone.

In fact, a rather sizable group was on the stage and just off of it. Many of them were smoking while the men on stage engaged in a concert of their own. Dean and Jake were on guitar; a scruffy man with a newsboy cap was keeping time with two rigid hands on a tall bongo drum.

Roman recognized the song though by this point it was halfway over.

" _Still a little bit of your song in my ear_

 _Still a little bit of your words I long to hear_

 _You step a little closer to me_

 _So close that I can't see what's going on…_

 _Stones taught me to fly_

 _Love, it taught me to lie_

 _Life taught me to die_

 _So it's not hard to fall_

 _When you float like a cannon_

 _Stones taught me to fly_

 _Love taught me to cry_

 _So come on, courage, teach me to be shy_

 _Cause it's not hard to fall_

 _And I don't wanna scare her_

 _It's not hard to fall_

 _And I don't wanna lose_

 _It's not hard to grow_

 _When you know that you just don't know_."

Dean's voice was wonderful, Roman knew this for certain, but he was impressed with the way Jake's resonating vocals knitted with Dean's in immaculate harmony. After a long acoustical outro, Dean threw his head back and blew a kiss to the limpid sky. "Beautiful!" he hollered. He'd yet to notice Roman. The others applauded them. Jake slapped Dean's back.

"You're good, kid."

Roman drew his wallet out and tugged a five-dollar bill from the fold, then dropped it into what must have been Jake's open guitar case, based on its decaying condition.

"Yo, thanks, man," one of the smokers called to him from the ground.

"You guys take requests?" Roman asked. "How about an encore?"

Dean looked up and over at him. Roman was warmed by the way his face ignited at the sight of him, from his bright eyes to the sudden lift of his smile. "Roman!" he cheered. He leaned Caroline cautiously against the stage, then hopped off to bundle Roman in his arms. His fingers pushed into Roman's back through his coat.

"I really missed you," Dean said.

"Really?"

"Really, really."

"I missed you last night, too."

Only when Dean pulled away did Roman notice the hazy mass of purple underneath his right eye. Roman felt deflated. Had something happened? Of course something happened, it was Dean.

"Where'd you get that?" Roman asked, lifting a finger towards Dean's black eye.

Dean touched his hand to his cheek. "Oh yeah. So, here's what went down. Sid and Bret here…" He waved towards two of the guys sharing a cigarette on the cold sidewalk. "They got jumped last night by a couple of thugs. Jake witnessed it, and we jumped in to help. Thugs got away, but not before getting a couple of hits in on Jake _and_ me."

"If they'd just asked, I woulda told 'em I didn't have nothin' on me," the blond of the two men stated. Roman didn't know if this was Sid or Bret. "Look at me. Do I look like a fucking doctor? Ain't got enough to support my nicotine addiction, ain't got nothing to give to no thugs."

Dean continued, "One of the guys started yelling after us, 'We'll be back! We've got homies and we'll fucking kill you!' And I'm like, 'Yeah, yeah, that's not the first time I've heard that one.'"

Roman swallowed hard. The arid winter air made his throat hurt. " _Then_ what happened?"

"We told Sid and Bret to stick with us. Safety in numbers. Guys didn't end up coming back, but it was better to stay in a group, anyway."

"Why didn't you just come home?"

Dean's head tipped, lips mangled, as though Roman's proposition was unlawful and immoral. "I wasn't gonna leave them alone. I wanted to stay close by, to protect them. You can relate to that, right?"

Roman smiled, still a bit uneasy. "Guess I can. I just don't want you making any more enemies. We already might have Abigail Wyatt to deal with." His figure went stiff. His lips sewed themselves shut. _Why did I have to say that? Things were fine_.

Dean knitted his brows. "Oh, shit. I forgot about her. I wouldn't worry too much, though. Not a lot she can do now that her most powerful resources have been cut off."

"You're not worried at all?"

Dean snorted. "Of course not. She's, like, a toothpick. Tall-ass woman, but what can she do? Reach the top shelf of a grocery store and throw something at us from up there? She ain't gonna do shit."

"If you're sure." Roman wasn't. But he appreciated Dean's indifference. Perhaps he was overreacting.

Or perhaps…

"Hey, buddy, did you say something about an encore?" the man at the bongo drum asked Roman. His leathery fingers rapped against the skin of his instrument.

"We can do one more, Ryan, then I gotta go. Life's calling me back."

"Lucky you _got_ a life," Sid/Bret—the not-blond—said.

"My life is awesome, Bret. Don't worry. Never too late, 'long as you're still alive."

Dean's attitude around these guys was no different than Roman was accustomed to, yet merely witnessing him in the presence of these homeless men—men he used to be part of, living with sans an address—put him in a different light than Roman was used to. He wasn't reckless out here; he was brave. He wasn't rash; he was street smart. Independent. In this moment, Dean didn't need Roman.

It kind of hurt to think about.

Roman liked thinking Dean needed him, not in a desperate, pathetic, "terribly influential" way that Seth's parents viewed him. But in this life, nobody needed nothing. Everyone needed something, someone.

Roman needed Dean.

And it was a satisfying feeling to consider that Dean just so happened to need him the very same way.

Dean returned to the stage, scooping his cherished instrument into his talented hands. "What should we play?"

"Hey, what about that one we learned last summer when that local band came here?" Jake suggested.

"Gonna have to be more specific than that, partner."

"The one about rules and religion and all the bosses getting fired."

"Oh. Oh!" Dean exclaimed. "Yeah, I remember that one. It sounds way better on an electric, though."

"Ambrose, you could make entrees from a Chinese menu sound good on acoustic. You know the notes. Start it up; I'll join in."

Dean chuckled, tongue gliding between his teeth. _God_ , he was sexy. Roman would never forget it. A daily reminder was a blessing. "Okay. I think I remember the words, considering how much I practiced it."

"If there's a song Dean could say was written just for him, it's this one," Jake said, nodding to Roman. "Said it himself, he did."

Roman gently lowered himself to the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs, curious about the song. Sid offered him the communal cigarette. Roman put his hand up to politely deny. He hoped he wouldn't have a coughing fit due to the lingering smoke.

Dean began the lyrics with a simple strum.

" _I hear voices in my head, they council me, they understand, they talk to me_ …"

Jake joined in on the strumming after observing Dean play for a few seconds. Dean carried into the first verse alone.

" _You got your rules and your religion_

 _All designed to keep you safe_

 _But when rules start getting broken_

 _You start questioning your faith_

 _I have a voice that is my savior_

 _Hates to love and loves to hate_

 _I have a voice that has the knowledge_

 _And the power to rule your fate_

 _I hear voices crying_

 _I see heroes dying_

 _I taste blood that's drying_

 _I feel tension rising_ …"

Jake joined in with the next chorus.

" _I hear voices in my head, they council me, they understand, they talk to me, they talk to me_

 _They tell me things that I will do, they show me things I'll do to you, they talk to me, they talk to me_ …"

Roman could certainly understand why Dean applied the song to his personal life. An inner voice that channeled his actions as opposed to any earthly authority that tried to prove him wrong, or even right.

Roman listened to the rest of the song, absorbing its meaning without fully accepting it as his own beliefs, loving the hell out of Dean's voice. What stood out the most to him wasn't just how smooth his vocals were, but how _assertive_ he was whenever he played. He was a damn good musician and he was fully aware of it. His voice was powerful. He swept the pick over the strings with brawn.

Passersby were scant on a cold morning like this, but of the few people who did trot past in coats clutching coffee cups and briefcases, a fraction of those few ended up dropping some money into Jake's guitar case. Dean didn't interrupt his song, but thanked each kind person with a smile that heated Roman's exposed skin.

He clapped for them when the song was over, but Dean didn't look too thrilled as his head lifted. "Ah, fuck," Dean groaned. His beautiful eyes closed. "So much for a good morning."

"Hey, guys, you can't be playing out here." The thundering voice from behind Roman surprised him, and he twirled around to see a policeman bundled up, swaggering towards the group. "Got two calls from that church on the corner complaining about you."

"It's Saturday, though," Sid said, cocking his head.

"Doesn't matter. Come on, move out. Now." The officer waved his gloved hand towards the small assembly.

" _Just take the grease_ ," Dean said, quoting a line from the second verse of his last song. He started packing Caroline up.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Dean was agitated. Roman quietly begged him to just cooperate so they could get home. He clutched the locked guitar case and shuffled towards Roman. "Let's go home. I'm starving."

The officer stayed put until everyone had cleared the area. Roman walked hastily away from the scene, while Dean seemed to lag behind. Roman had to wait for him a couple of times before they were finally walking at the same pace.

Dean drew his e-cigarette from his pocket. "Shit's starting to taste awful," he said. "Gotta get a new one."

"Are they expensive?"

"Sometimes. Depends on the quality. You want a nice one, you gotta cough up a few extra bucks. Usually it's not a problem for me. Is it a problem for you? Me smoking this, I mean?"

"N-no," Roman lied. "I mean, I guess it's better than regular cigarettes, but I don't know much about them health wise and—"

Dean took one long drag from the device, then chucked it into a metal trash can. "Should probably cut back, anyway. Won't kill me to ease up on 'em. So how was your night?"

"Um." Was now the time to bring the subject up? Was _any_ time "the time"? "It was alright," he started out, testing himself on how far he'd go. "We didn't do much. Just hung out."

"Seth probably talked about what an idiot I am, huh?"

Roman blushed, embarrassed for Seth. "He might have used the word a couple of times."

"I know it. No secret that he kinda resents me for my manners sometimes. It's just who I am. He accepts the rest of me just fine."

"He accepts all of you."

"Yeah. Guess that's true. Even when he doesn't think he does."

They reached the car. Inside, Roman turned the engine over and cranked the heat up, but he didn't begin to drive. Not yet. "Something else came up, too."

"Yeah?" Dean didn't touch his seatbelt.

Roman's insides twisted into sailor's knots that were unable to be untethered; only cut or torn apart. "Remember on Christmas morning…when you asked me if I liked Seth?"

Dean tucked his hands under his arms to warm them up. "Yep. You never answered me, so I figured the answer was yes."

How was Dean able to look him in the face right now? Was he not upset?

"You're…handling that news pretty well."

"Are you about to tell me the two of you went to bed together last night?"

"Oh, no, no. _God_ , no."

"Anything happen that could have led to that?"

"No. Absolutely not."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "So what's the problem then?"

Roman was in disbelief. "There…isn't one?"

"Of course not. Roman, I love you." Dean freed one of his hands from its warm pleat to hold Roman's on his leg. "I trust you with all my heart, and trust _me_ , that ain't an easy thing to come by. Ask Seth. He's the only one—the only _other_ one—in the world that I trust with everything I am. I wouldn't expect you to do anything to jeopardize our relationship. Nor would I expect that kinda shit from Seth."

Roman stared at their intertwined hands. "I've been cheated on, and let me tell you, there's no worse feeling than giving someone your all, and learning they never gave a damn what you did for them…gave it all to someone else…it's fucking miserable. I'd never do that to anyone, especially not you."

"And there you go. That's why I trust you. Just you confessing this to me, expressing guilt just for _thinking_ this way, proves how much you love me. As easy as it would be for you to bone Seth while I'm at work or something and hush up about it when I'm around."

"Well, I'm a terrible liar."

"This is true. Still. You're not that guy, Roman. You're _this_ guy. And I _love_ this guy. This guy is the one Jake told me to shut the fuck up about five or six times last night alone."

Roman smiled. "Really?"

"Honest to God. I told him about your job at the coffeehouse, and how you're a year away from graduating college, and how we met, and how I fell in love with you over a plate of pancakes."

"That's the moment you knew you loved me? That night at Wayside?"

"Yep. As soon as you took my hand and said you were 'very much' interested in me, I thought, 'Fuck, I'm in trouble.'"

Roman was gratified for the romantic profession. "That's adorable as hell."

"Yeah, yeah. What about you? When did you realize you were head over heels in love with a lunatic?"

"Hmm. That's a tricky one. There were moments I knew I wanted you, moments I thought _maybe_ I was on my _way_ falling in love with you…then moments I couldn't deny it any longer."

"I wanna hear all of them."

"Here and now? I might have to think about that."

"Fine. Make me wait. I'm over here shitting out sap, and you're all quiet and smiling."

Roman got an idea. "Hey. Do you remember what we talked about after that shower we took together, about being a normal couple and doing normal couple things? Like dates?"

"I think we've had one or two of those already, but yeah, I'd be down for more."

"What say you to a date tonight? Do you work?"

"No. You?"

Roman winced inwardly. _Thanks, job, for the interference_. "I do. But I'm off at seven."

"Awesome. That'll give me time to make myself all pretty at home."

Roman smiled. "I can even pick you up at the door. After breaking into your house and changing from my work clothes into a nice outfit from your closet."

"I wouldn't want my dates to do anything else."

"We deserve it, Dean." Roman rubbed the top of Dean's hand. Seth wasn't even on his mind anymore. "We really do. I want you to know how much you mean to me. It's hard to put into words."

"It is, isn't it? Think that's why I love that song so much. Use more than words to show me how you feel. Then I know it's real."

"You do know it's real already though, right?"

"Of course. But I appreciate reminders."

"I'm more than happy to deliver there."

Dean leaned on Roman's shoulder. "You should probably drive now, before you waste all your gas just sitting here."

"Okay, but first…" Roman swooped his head down and planted a kiss on Dean's lips. He watched as the mouth he'd just smooched elevated.

"See?" Dean asked, sounding breathless. "That kiss said a lot without saying anything at all."

"That was the idea."

* * *

Seth still wasn't home from work by the time Roman had to leave for his shift. Dean was stoked about having the place to himself. He asked Roman how "elegantly" he had to dress for this evening. Roman said he didn't have a specific plan yet, but it would be fun to dress up in suits and go somewhere nice.

"Do we have to?" Dean asked. "I mean, I'd love to go somewhere nice, but you don't have to break the bank over me."

"I'd like to. And don't worry about money with me, okay? Just worry about what you're gonna do with that bedraggled hair of yours tonight."

Dean fingered the ends of his mane. "I don't know what bedraggled means, but I'm guessing it means hot and sexy, because I know how much you love my hair."

"I do. Bedraggled just means unkempt, untidy."

"Oh, I see how it is. Fine. I'll comb it back for you, nice and pretty."

Roman laughed. "You can do whatever you want to it. I don't care how you look. Society might, but I sure don't."

"Society can kiss my bare ass. I'll ride through this town naked if I feel like it."

"Maybe save that one for the fifth date."

Dean held the front door open for Roman. "Have a good day at work, sweetie pie."

"We a couple from the fifties now?"

"Golly gee, we could be." Dean kissed his nose. "See you tonight, Superman."

Roman heard Dean fasten the lock behind the closed door. He missed Dean already.

Dolph was off today, so Roman went through the motions of his shift in solitude. Dean had reacted surprisingly calm to his indirect confession to crushing on Seth. Was he truly unperturbed by the information? If he wasn't, he was great at hiding any sort of animosity. Or did Dean truly have so much faith in Roman that even admittance of feelings for another couldn't bother him if they tried?

Roman was honored to receive that kind of trust, if that's what the case was, if Dean was being honest. He was excited to prove to Dean that he was right to trust him. He'd never let Dean down, never let him go.

Perhaps this was the motivation he needed to get over this stupid crush.

Work dragged, even for a Saturday. Business was good, but Roman's thrill for his evening plans kept seven o'clock as far away from him as time could possibly allow. Finally after watching the minutes drag, he clocked out on time and left the coffeehouse without talking to anyone.

Having friends was nice. He'd missed Dolph today.

 _I'll get him a Christmas present and then take him up on that offer to hang out soon_.

At home, Roman unlocked the door. He only managed to get one foot inside before he heard Dean cry from within, "NO! I'm not ready yet!"

Roman paused.

Seth pulled the door open from inside a minute later. "He's in the bathroom now. He wanted to see your face when he was fully ready."

Roman stepped into the warm establishment. "Going 'Sharp-Dressed Man' on me tonight?"

"Oh, yeah. He's excited about it. It's adorable. Like watching your kid get ready for their first school dance."

"You use a lot of kid analogies with him. Are you sure we're not just his fatherly figures and he's our son?"

"Sure feels that way sometimes, huh?" Seth chuckled, but there wasn't much humor tacked onto the gently laugh.

"How are you feeling?"

Seth shrugged. "I'm alright. How are you?"

"Great. Wonderful, actually."

"That's good to hear. So you and Dean talked earlier." It sounded like it should have been a question, yet it wasn't.

"We did."

"He told me about it. We talked, too."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Can you believe how chill he was about it? Took me by surprise."

"Yeah, no kidding. I can't say I've ever had a buddy confess to me that he's into the person I'm dating, but I can't imagine I'd sit back and pretend like he didn't even say anything."

"Dean's mature."

"In some ways, yes."

Roman smiled.

"So…time to get over whatever it is I'm feeling then," Seth said, scratching behind his head.

His voice lowered. "Yeah. You and me both." Would it be as easy as he'd felt it would be earlier? Perhaps…?

"Hey, what are you doing standing around here for?" Seth tapped Roman's leg with his foot. "You've got a date to get ready for. Go, go."

"Yes, sir, right away."

It was dismaying, realizing once again how few "nice" outfits Roman owned compared to his enormous stockpile of nerdy t-shirts and plain jeans. He came across a light blue, long-sleeved button up shirt and a navy blazer he hadn't worn since he first started applying for jobs and attending interviews. Not that the blazer had helped much in landing him a position at the coffeeshop. The place wasn't ornate. He wore a plain white shirt underneath the button up and the nice jacket, and settled for a pair of black jeans with no holes. He combed his hair out long and straight. He wished Randy was here to decorate him with accessories again. But the watch helped add opulence to the outfit, and his Superman pendant never came off for anything. Besides a ring Roman had owned forever and couldn't even remember where he purchased it or why, he didn't have much else to add.

Dean wouldn't care.

Roman creaked his bedroom door open and poked his head out. Seth was in the living room. Dean must have still been in the bathroom. The door was closed. "Okay, let's make this all official," Roman said. He crossed the floor. "How do I look?"

"Hot piece of ass."

Roman dismissed it as a joke. "Thanks."

Roman stepped into a nice pair of shoes, let himself out of the apartment, pulled the door closed, then spun around and pressed the doorbell.

A few seconds later, Seth opened it for him again.

"Hi, my name is Roman Reigns. I'm here to take out your son figure, Dean Ambrose. I don't intend to bring him home on time, there's a good chance we'll be making out in the car, and of course I intend to sleep with him and never call him back."

"I appreciate your honesty, good sir. Please, come into my home and take advantage of my soft, sensitive son-figure."

"The pleasure of using him, then leaving him heartbroken and downcast for many months."

Seth and Roman cracked up. "Hey, Dean, your date's here!" Seth called.

"Perfect timing."

The bathroom door pulled open. Dean stepped into the subdued light of the living room.

Roman's mouth fell open.

Dean had dressed up nice on Christmas Eve for the miserable trip to Seth's parents' house, and he'd looked handsome, sure, but it was obvious he'd dressed just for the sake of dressing. He hadn't looked much like himself that night. Tonight…tonight Roman was captivated by his physical presence alone. Dean Ambrose was his very best, the very best for Roman. A maroon cashmere sweater over some white shirt; a pair of blue jeans that were surprisingly _not_ the ones he wore religiously, held up by a brown belt; the tiny stud earring back in its rightful place; some cologne wafting off him; the bracelet fashioned from Annie's strings on his wrist.

"I'm guessing by that look on your face, I look hideous and I should probably change?" Dean asked.

"You're so…just…wow."

"I'll take 'wow.' 'Wow' is good."

"What are you boys up to tonight?" Seth asked.

"I'm taking him to this Italian eatery in Crystal Park," Roman divulged. "Savelli's."

"Oh, I hate that place," Dean said, making a face.

"Really?"

"No. I've never heard of it."

"Ah. You're in for a treat."

"Make good choices," Seth told them at the door.

"Yes, Mom," Dean mocked.

"Guess that makes you Dad, Roman."

Roman chuckled. "We already knew I was the father."

"We'll text you when we're on our way home so you can kick out all the hookers before we get back," Dean said.

"That's very considerate of you, Dean," Seth said. "Thanks. Good night, guys."

Roman unlocked the car, then opened up the passenger side for Dean. "Such a gentleman," Dean said, squeezing into the seat. Roman crawled into the driver's seat. Dean was about to say, or ask, him something, but Roman didn't allow the words into the air. He thrust his lips against Dean's, kissing him hard. He'd been waiting to do that since laying eyes on Ambrose. But he wanted to respect Seth.

"Damn, Roman, night hasn't even started yet," Dean said, dazed.

"Sorry. I get impatient."

"Hey, so do I."

Roman started the car.

"Did you think of an answer to my question earlier?"

"I'll tell you at dinner."

"Man, we're just talking about feeling impatient, and now you're making me wait even longer." Dean leaned forward and switched the radio on. Aerosmith filled the car. Dean drummed to the rhythm with his hands on his knees.

The restaurant was hectic, but Roman had called ahead to reserve a table in the middle of the dinner rush. It was only a five-minute wait before they were seated. For such a hectic time, the restaurant managed to stay quiet and restful. Soft Italian opera music played over the speakers. The servers voices' were muted, and conversation was held at low volumes. This place was quite the opposite of Dean.

"Jesus," Dean said, frowning at the menu. "Eight bucks for a antipasto salad."

"You're getting a salad?" Roman asked.

"No. Just saying. That's a lot for a bowl of lettuce and cheese."

"That one comes with a lot of meat."

"Ah. That explains the pricing, then. It's a man's salad."

A male server approached the table. Good, no cute, giggling female to hit on Dean tonight. But a guy could just as easily hit on Roman's date as a woman could. "What can I get you guys to drink?"

"Two waters," Roman said, taking charge, "and could we please order a bottle of the Muscato?"

Dean blinked at the unfamiliar term.

"Absolutely," the server said. He made off with the drink order.

"Muscato is what, a wine?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. But it's really sweet. You'll love it."

Dean grinned. "You know me so well."

Roman couldn't stop smiling. Already his cheeks were aching. He couldn't help it. It would take a heartless ass _not_ to feel so happy right now. The love in his heart, the love for Dean, was sincere and absolute. Nothing he'd ever felt before. Not with anyone.

Dean's eyes lowered to the menu. "Come on, Ro. Quit looking at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"Yeah, how dare I admire your natural attractiveness, inside and out."

"Inside, huh? What do my lungs look like? Are they pretty sexy?"

"Eh. I'm more partial to your spleen."

"Ha. Joke's on you. I had that removed when I was ten."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because I'm a master manipulator." Dean rolled his eyes. "According to some."

The server delivered the waters and the bottle of wine. Roman ordered an eggplant parmesan; Dean looked revolted at the mention of it. Dean had trouble choosing between a chicken fettuccine Alfredo and a simple lasagna. He finally settled on the lasagna, admitting he only chose the latter because it was cheaper than the fettuccine.

"Dean, I told you, money's no object tonight."

"You don't need to blow a ton of dough on me to make me happy. We didn't even need all this."

"I know. But I like it."

"I like you."

"I _love_ you. What now?"

Dean held his hands up. "Oh, shit, got me beat there."

Roman hoped Dean's voice wasn't carrying to the other quieter tables.

"Speaking of love—"

"I have my answer," Roman stated.

"Killer." Dean rubbed his hands together, then folded them atop the table. "First was the moment you knew you wanted me."

"The very first night you played at Java Central."

Dean pulled a whistle through his lips. "Wow. That long ago, huh?"

"From the start, something just fascinated me about you. I never really did figure out what it was, but I was so excited for the first and third Thursdays of every month, because I knew you'd be in to play."

"Was I your favorite singer of them all?"

"Without question."

"Ha. Take that, 'Smoke on the Water', you Fedora-wearing fuck."

Roman winced again at his abrupt language. "Oh, come on. You probably brandish a Fedora hat from time to time."

Dean smiled sheepishly. "I used to, actually. When I first got here, I never took mine off. Then I saw Bray Wyatt wearing one all the time. Realized they don't look so good."

Roman didn't want that name to linger in their evening. "I could never do anything about it because you were a stranger to me. I just admired you from afar."

"Creeper. Totally kidding. Go on."

"The night you actually talked to me after the show for the first time, I was completely shocked. I never thought I'd get the chance to actually converse with you. It was like meeting a celebrity."

"That's sweet, Ro." Dean took a sip of the wine. His eyes bulged at the taste. "Holy _shit_ , this is amazing. You were right." He took another drink, longer. "Don't let me get hammered in here. I'll ruin everyone's good time."

"I won't. What came next?" Roman queried. "When I thought I might be falling for you?"

"Yeah. You remember the very first time?"

"I remember one of the very first times, but I can't say for sure if that was it. It was the first time I went to your apartment. We watched a movie and you fell asleep. Seth and I were talking about how you had a lot of issues, but it didn't change how either of us felt about you. I felt this weird calling of wanting to protect you. Especially after saving you from…"

"The _true_ creeper?"

"Yeah, him. I figured you were probably fine without me, but if there was anything I could do for you, I was gonna do it."

"Suppose I'd asked you to back off, don't let me in, don't let yourself into my crazy life. Would you have done that?"

"If it meant saving you and saving myself, sure. But I think we tried that out at first. Didn't work."

Dean scoffed. "I thought about trying. Didn't work out so well. It's all your fault. You're just so irresistible. The way you care about people. The way you go out of your way for little old me. How I can just look at you and _see_ how much you love me. How could I _not_ fall for you over pancakes?"

Roman was close to tackling him over the table, pinning him to the carpet and spearing his tongue down Dean's throat.

"So now, the million dollar question. When did you first fall in love with me?"

"I could drag it out. I could give you a cop-out answer and say I fall in love with you every single day. Like that Ed Sheeran song."

"I'm flattered, and while that may be true, I kept it specific. The _first_ time."

Roman chuckled. "You fell in love with me over a plate of pancakes. I fell in love with you on your couch while you sang 'More Than Words' to me personally."

Dean tapped the table with the heel of his hand. "Damn, that's such a good song. Keeps working its way into our relationship."

"Should we make it our song, then?"

"If you have to make it official, sure. I kinda figured it already was." He winked, then took down a swig of wine.

"Good stuff, huh?" Roman queried.

"Boy, I'll say. Let's get a bottle of this shit to go."

"Stop cussing so loud. This is a nice restaurant, dick."

"Oh, my apologies to all the rich bitches and bastards who can't accept the fact we live in a shitty world where this sort of goddamn language fucking exists."

Roman muffled his laughter. "Don't get us kicked out, asshole."

"With how much they're charging us for pasta, we better have the right to free speech around here."

"With how much they're charging us for pasta, maybe we should test those rights. Just strip and make out. Right there on the floor."

Dean grinned mischievously. "Don't tempt me. Just might take you up on it. Maybe not _right there_ , but a little later on, somewhere else. Not too far away."

"That so? Then I will continue—"

The server delivered their food. Roman squeezed his lips closed, not wanting a whisper of their sensual affairs to be made anyone else's business. He was dismissed after Roman and Dean stated they didn't need anything else—except, perhaps, for him to walk away so they could continue talking.

"You were saying?" Dean mused.

"I'll continue tempting you until you give in and you can't help but come onto me."

Dean stabbed the great lump of lasagna on his plate. "Please. I'm a lot stronger than you give me credit for. I don't break easy."

"Oh yeah? One of the very first things I learned about you wasn't your hobbies or favorite TV show or where you're from, but one of your _many_ weaknesses. I have a lot on you. More than you realize."

"Ooh, so you know I like sweets and I'm incredibly ticklish. _That'll_ get me into bed with you. _So_ seductive."

"I have my ways."

"And I have mine. I've got a lot on you too, Ro."

"Like what?"

"Like how much softer your voice gets after I call you Ro. Or Superman."

Roman could feel his heartbeat picking up. He dispensed a forkful of parmesan into his mouth, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. "I like my nicknames, sure. But that's not alluring enough to break me."

"Tip of the iceberg, baby. How about the way your breathing gets all slow and offset anytime I just do this?" Dean rested his jaw against his slim fingers and looked ahead into Roman's eyes. His baby blue eyes _were_ one of his best features. "Just looking at you. Not even doing anything. Just sitting here, watching you swim and squirm."

Roman was loving this challenge. Thank God there was a tablecloth to conceal how much tighter his jeans had gotten.

"Ready to jump me?" Dean asked him.

"Nope. Instead I will laugh at your pitiful attempts to entice me."

"Sure, you put on a brave face, but I can read your mind like it's a kid's book. I know what you're fantasizing about. It's a pretty picture. Both of us stripped down naked. Our heated bodies pressed together, clinging to one another like it's our lives on the line. Both fighting to see who can be the most aggressive kisser. You'd kiss me all over my neck, knowing how much I love it there. I'd run my tongue over your nipples, knowing how much _you_ love it there."

Roman shifted in his seat. His boner was painfully constricted. _Talk about offset breathing._

"And I wouldn't stop." Dean's tongue slipped through his teeth. He must have known how sexy Roman found the motion. "I'd just keep going. All over. Up and down, and lower…and lower…"

Roman was about to break. He shoveled food into his mouth, trying to recuperate. Dean snickered, knowing his advantage. He went in for the kill.

"And after I've made your body writhe in sheer pleasure, after I've lapped up all your sex juices, as we're both laying on the floor, sweating, gasping for breath, hardly able to move after that kind of session…I'd turn over, I'd grab my guitar, and I'd just look into your eyes and sing to you."

Roman closed his eyes, a sigh of defeat pushing from his lungs. Dean won. The bastard won this one for sure.

"How are we doing over here?" the server questioned, skipping back over with impeccable timing.

"Great. Could we get the check, please?" Roman asked.

"Absolutely."

"And another bottle of this awesome stuff," Dean requested.

"Sure thing."

When he left, Dean beamed, triumphant. He finished off his lasagna.

"You'll pay for that, Ambrose."

"Bring it, baby."

Roman paid the bill. The wine bottle was wrapped in a paper bag and handed off as the server collected his money. Roman left a decent tip and moved out of the restaurant, all but running. Dean practically skipped beside him.

"You play a dirty game," Roman accused.

"Dirty, yes. Game, not so much."

"You're lucky I can at least hold off until we get to the car."

"You mean no sex in the middle of the busy restaurant with all the families and the kids and the dating couples? Shit, why did we even come here?"

They climbed into the car. Roman turned the engine over. Halfway home is when he figured enough was enough. Waiting was torture. He pulled into the parking lot of a shopping mall that was closed for the night. There was nobody around.

Roman pushed his seat far back, then lowered it to where he was reclining at a forty-five degree angle. "Get your ass over here."

"Don't have to ask me twice." Dean crawled on top of him.

Their heat fogged the windows up. Their fashionable clothes converted to a disarranged pile on the backseat. Dean tasted so good, he felt so _good_. Roman had him, had everything with him, yet somehow wanted more, so much more. Roman gripped him tight with both hands, not intending to ever let him go.

"I love you so much, Dean Ambrose," Roman groaned as Dean pressed against him over and over, building electric pleasure with every touch. "Can't say it enough. Don't wanna wear it out."

"You can't. You won't," Dean breathed, just as winded as Roman. "I'll never stop loving you. And I'll never not mean it when I say—"

Roman hooked him into a kiss. More than words. Show, not tell. All that needed to be said was a message delivered by the angels, words whispered through the universe, felt like electricity in the hearts of the boys who were just as happy with each other as they were determined to fill the other with that much everlasting joy.

* * *

 **If you guys haven't listened to the acoustic version of Randy Orton's theme "Voices" by Sahaj Ticotin, you should give it a listen. I found it on Youtube, and it's pretty wonderful! I imagine that's sort of how Dean would sound singing it. Anyway, see you next chapter, when the angst starts to creep back into their lives. :/ Aha. :P**


	38. Chapter 38

**Hey guys! Apologies for not updating this in several days. I was at a Supernatural convention this weekend - my second greatest fanbase in life - and it was AWESOME! Now I'm back home, crying over Seth's injury and the fact that his title was taken away and everything pretty much went to shit...but we'll see what happens at Survivor Series, right? PRAY FOR NO AMBREIGNS HEELS TURN FROM EITHER PARTY PLEASE AND THANK YOU~**

 **That said. Here's that deliciously dramatic (or should I say traumatic?) chapter I promised. Enjoy~**

* * *

Roman awoke with a beautiful man in his arms, wearing his shirt, smelling of Roman's cologne, the heat of their near-naked bodies heating him under the blanket.

 _This is it_ , Roman thought, gently pressing his lips against Dean's hair in his morning fashion. _This is what I want every morning for the rest of my life_.

But he had to shower soon, and he had to go to work. Not seeing a reason to clothe himself more before trudging into a shower, Roman made his way out of the bedroom in just his boxers.

Seth was stepping out of the bathroom at the same time, a billow of steam rising above him, hair dripping, towel knotted over the curves of his waist. He became motionless mid-step on his way to his room. "Whoa! Oh God, Roman, sorry."

Roman twirled around, trying to blink out _that_ sight. "No, no, _I'm_ sorry. I didn't know you were—"

"Fuck, man, my bad. I thought you were sleeping."

"I was. Have to go to work soon." His cheeks burned red as strawberries. _Seth looks good, holy-shit good, but it's so very wrong for me to think so_.

"Well, I wasn't in there for too long. I'm on my way to the office, too."

"Okay."

"All yours."

"Thanks."

Roman waited until he heard the click of Seth's bedroom door before turning around. He sighed, relieved. _Just shake it off. Wasn't that bad. Could have been worse_.

As a way to prove to himself everything would be fine, he scuttled back into his bedroom to kiss Dean's hair again. His perfectly imperfect Dean Ambrose. The man he was meant to be with.

 _There's millions of hot guys out there. How'd I get lucky with this one_?

Roman didn't take a long shower. He dressed for work quietly beside his sleeping angel. As he brushed his hair out, preparing the ponytail, he heard Dean shift in bed and mumble something. It sounded a lot like, "Ro."

Roman smiled. _Is he dreaming about me_?

The "Ro"s came again, this time more distinctly. But with each nickname in passing there came a sense of urgency. They were frantic, not amorous. Almost like his name was a question and Dean was desperate for the answer. "Ro? Ro? Ro! Roman! ROMAN!"

He was screaming. Roman jumped over the bed, landing on the other side, and took Dean's hands in a hold. He was shivering as though cold, very cold. That was impossible, given the warmth under the blanket. It must have been for a different reason.

"Dean, hey, Dean, Dean, listen to me, it's okay," Roman said, getting the words out faster than his mind could comprehend them. "Hey, you with me? It's okay, Dean, I've got you."

Dean's eyes hauled open. Salty droplets rolled from them. "Jesus, Roman," he croaked. "It's you."

"It's me. Come here."

Dean flung his arms around Roman. "That was a shitty awful dream."

"I bet. Shh, it's okay. It was just a dream."

"Yeah, but it wasn't, though. That's the thing. One time it was the real deal."

Roman stroked the back of Dean's hair, fingers getting tangled in the dishevel. "About Bray?"

"Yeah. Saw you there with him. He was alive. Still on top of you. Still holding you from me." His voice lifted in pitch. "It was awful…"

"Shh. Shh. It's okay. You're awake. That fucker's dead. Deader than dead. Your uncle murdered him twice."

"That even possible?" At last, a chuckle from him. Progress.

"With an uncle named the Undertaker? Of course it is."

A knock on the door. Seth pushed inside before Roman granted him access. "You alright, Dean?" he asked, approaching the bedside—fully dressed, thank God. Yet Roman could still visualize his cut chest, the distinct abs. He looked ahead, still holding Dean until Dean pulled away on his own.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a nightmare."

"Oh, no. I thought we were past those."

"You used to have nightmares?" Roman asked.

Dean nodded, touching the sleeve of Roman's shirt to his red eyes. "Yeah. When I first moved in with Seth. Used to dream about the Wyatts finding me, finding him, fucking us up."

"Your subconscious is sadistic," Seth said.

"Yeah. Back to reality, which somehow—for once—is a little better than my dreams."

Roman hugged him again. "Nothing's gonna happen to me again. And you're with me, and I won't let anything happen to you."

"Believe it," Seth said. "Trust him. Trust us. I promise the same thing."

"I know." Dean smiled. More progress. Success. "So you're both dressed for work. Damn. When are you both off? I need a ride in later."

"I'm off at one," Seth answered.

"Five," Roman said.

"I have to go _in_ at five," Dean explained. "I'm closing. Shoot, Ro, I'll just miss you."

Guess Seth was the winner here.

"I'll take him in if you pick him up," Seth offered.

"Deal," Roman said.

"God, this is nuts," Dean said, leaning back against the pillow that supported Roman's head for the night. Half of it, anyway. Perhaps a quarter. The rest had been on Dean's shoulder. "Look at us, all going to jobs. Never thought we'd be the type to all have _jobs_."

"Well, Ro and I are the type to have jobs," Seth ventured. "You? Nah. Still can't believe it."

"My life is so different."

"Different 'cause it's borderline normal for once?" Roman teased.

Dean made a face. "Hell no. That's a four-letter word for me, _normal_. Give me adventures by the day and peril by night, and I'll be the happiest guy alive."

"Uh, no more peril," Seth said.

"Yeah, I can do without that," Roman concurred.

"Wimps," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Fine, what about, adventures by day, lessons by night? I can still learn a lot in this world without having a college degree. No offense, Roman. Yours will treat you well."

"None taken."

Dean played guitar while Roman and Seth finished getting ready. Roman recognized a couple of the songs amidst mostly random strumming. "Voices", from yesterday morning. "Hotel California." Improvisation, his own lyrics. Roman wondered what it would be like if Dean wrote a song. He'd have to ask at some point. A special request.

"Don't burn the house down while we're gone," Seth said to Dean, zipping his coat up.

"Fuck. Way to ruin my afternoon plans, Seth. Guess I'll have to settle for running with scissors and talking to strangers instead."

"Madcap," Roman said.

"The hell did you just call me?"

"Madcap. Eccentric, maniac, lunatic, oddity."

Dean's lips twisted into a madcap grin. "I like it."

"I thought you might."

"Have a great day at work, fellas. See you tonight, Ro."

"I love you, Dean. More than words can say."

"I love you, Roman. 'More Than Words' can say."

"Oh God," Seth groaned, "I'm leaving before this turns into Caligula over here."

"The hell did you just call me?"

As unfortunately anticipated, the walk to the parking lot was stiff and awkward.

"I'm really sorry about earlier, Roman," Seth tried. Roman praised his attempt. "Seriously, if I'd known you were up, I would have been way more careful—"

"It's okay, Seth. I didn't see anything, if it helps."

"We need a bigger place. Two bathrooms." Seth chuckled pitifully.

"Maybe someday."

"That's assuming you and Dean don't want a place all to yourselves."

"Maybe some _other_ day. Till then, I don't think Dean nor I would be okay with you leaving us."

"Good. 'Cause I don't feel like leaving. So long as we can be okay."

"We'll be fine."

"I know you love Dean. I know damn well he loves you. I'm not getting in the way of anything, you hear?"

"Of course, Seth. I trust you."

"Good. That means a lot, Roman."

Seth lingered by Roman's car. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah. Oh," Roman said, remembering something important. "I'm gonna hit up Walmart on my way home. We need some groceries, and I'm way behind in getting some late Christmas presents for a few people. Can you think of anything we need?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I'll take a peek in the kitchen later and text you any necessities."

"Thanks. And for the record, beer isn't a necessity."

"Says who?"

Roman laughed. "Have a good day at work, Seth."

"You too, Reigns."

* * *

Roman worked with Dolph for most of his shift, time he used striving to get information out of the guy as to what he would like as a Christmas present. Personal thought into a gift meant a lot to Roman. He didn't want to settle on a gift card; it felt like a cop-out. But he couldn't get much out of Dolph except for intricate details about his new dame Vickie. Maybe a gift card would have to do, after all. It would be an even trade, in that case.

Randy was much easier to shop for, perhaps because they'd lived together for so long and he wasn't difficult to figure out. Roman selected a black-plated stainless steel Claddagh ring for him, as well as some cologne he knew Randy wore and liked. A touch pricey, but Roman couldn't imagine how much Randy had spent on that jacket for him. It was a _nice_ jacket.

While browsing the aisles, Roman got three texts from Seth, back to back to back.

 **Looking in the kitchen and we're out of most breakfast stuff. Up to u what we get, but if u prefer a full breakfast instead of just toaster strudels and cereal, splurge on those aisles.**

 **Dean said, and I quote, "Get shit for mochas."**

 **And that he loves u.**

It made Roman smile.

He paid for his items and headed out. Off for a nice evening at home—with Seth—while Dean worked. It concerned him. Could things be okay between him and Seth? No awkward phases of traded eye contact, coughing to fill the silence, and a too-hot, too-still living room?

Only one way to find out, really.

Seth wasn't home. Roman unloaded the groceries and sought out extra wrapping paper from the storage closet. While pondering options for dinner, he wrapped his presents. They'd have to take the Christmas tree down at some point soon. But it would feel kind of glum, removing the decor from the living room. His first Christmas with Dean and Seth had been magical.

 _Jeopardy_! was on its second episode when Seth came home from wherever he'd been. He was holding a big brown box. Seth chuckled at the TV. "You _are_ a nerd."

"Damn right," Roman said, picking a wound-up piece of tape from his thumb.

"No worries." Seth shifted the box from underneath one arm to the other. "I like this show from time to time, too. Makes me feel smart the one time per episode I actually get an answer right."

"One time? That's pretty impressive still."

"Shut up."

Roman laughed. "You hungry?"

"Eh. Kinda, sorta. I don't feel too well."

"You alright?"

"Well, I just met up with my brother."

"Really?" Roman turned down the volume on the television. "For what?"

"I asked him to bring me some stuff of mine from home." He lifted the box. "Considering I never plan on going back."

It made Roman's heart bend. "Really?"

"Yeah. You heard all that shit they were saying about Dean. I'm not gonna put up with that."

"I know, but Seth, they're your parents. They love the hell out of you, no matter what. I know they were harsh— _really_ harsh—about Dean, but you know they're just looking out for you, right?"

Seth's nostrils flared. "Yeah, sure. That's why they tried to guilt me into college, made me feel like shit with every single choice I made for myself. The only decision they really agreed with me on—and it was more my father than my mom—was my decision to leave home, and I'm sure the only reason why _that_ is is because it was one less kid they had to stress over. With them, it's not about what's best for me. It's about what's best for business. Family business. Whatever makes my side of the family look best to the other members during Thanksgiving and Christmastime and reunions. It's all an act. They're just mad I don't play the role of the perfect son."

"You don't have to be perfect to be a good son."

"Tell that to my dad. They're all over you. I'm sure they'd consider adopting you if you were an orphan."

"No thanks. I like my parents." Roman had called them on Christmas shortly after opening presents. He missed them, but he was glad he didn't have to heavily rely on them for anything—and right now, he was glad his relationship with them wasn't degenerating like Seth's with his parents.

"What must that be like?" Seth wondered aloud. "Sorry. I'll stop bitching. Look at all my awesome stuff! Like second Christmas."

Seth sat next to Roman on the floor. Crammed in the box was a variety of Xbox games, the laptop, a short collection of books, and a few picture frames, all holding photos of Kane and Seth. "How'd you make it by without a laptop for so many years?" Roman asked.

"This one's old. It's actually Kane's. Dad bought him a new one for Christmas one year, and baby Seth got the old one."

"Oh."

"I cried tears of joy the first time I got my very own laptop for the first time."

"They finally got you your own?"

"Nope. Got tired of waiting for them. Bought it myself."

"I'm really sorry that relationship is so shitty, Seth. I really hope you guys can work things out someday."

"Unfortunately, I'm just like my dad. I'm stubborn and petty and dominant. I probably wouldn't be the first to apologize for anything, just like him."

Roman meant it with the best intentions when he reached over and tapped Seth's hand, resting on his knee. He realized his mistake, recognizing that electricity, and drew his hand away. "You're gonna be okay. Promise."

"Weirdly enough, I might believe you someday."

 _Shit, here comes that awkward feeling again. Why does it always end up like this? Why can't I just sit by him and feel fine? Why do I have to get all anxious and flustered_?

He had to get out of here.

"Hey, I'm actually thinking Chinese for dinner," Roman said, standing up. "You sure you're not hungry?"

"Nah. Like I said. Stomach feels pretty sour. Thanks, though."

"In that case, I'll probably swing by the comic book store and drop some food off for Dean. In case he's hungry."

"Yeah. That's a good plan, Roman."

Roman's fingers wiggled at his side. How to make this better, not worse? How to comfort Seth without wandering down a path of total destruction? "Seth, I care a lot about you. No matter what. You do know that, right?"

"Of course I do. And thanks. I care about you, too."

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

"Or our friendship. I feel like we're really a family here."

"Yeah, we're something special, alright." Seth offered a smile. "You make me feel a little more than okay that I'm not exactly close with my parents. Because with you and Dean, I do know what it means to be part of a family."

 _Good job, Reigns. You saved that one_. "I'll be back in a bit, okay? Same rules apply to you. No burning down the place, running with scissors, talking to strangers…"

"What about looking both ways before I cross the street? Do I _have_ to do that?"

"Are you going outside?"

"If I want to, bitch."

"Fine, whatever. Get hit by a car. I don't care."

Seth laughed. "Alright, go get Ambrose some food before he keels over."

"I doubt he's starving to death."

"Still. Your job to protect him, right?"

"That's very true." It was a job he would commit his life to, if Dean allowed him to stick around that long. So far he was feeling rather confident about it.

* * *

Roman gripped two brown bags of steaming Chinese food close to his body and shivered while waiting for the light to turn green so he could cross the street. He was surrounded by a handful of people who also dared to brave the temperatures well below freezing at this time. There was a Chinese restaurant just a couple of blocks from Escape Velocity, and he figured the walk wouldn't hurt. Now he was regretting it with numb fingers and a nose redder than Rudolph's.

Considering the bunch most likely huddled together at Acacia Park at that moment helped Roman feel a bit warmer. At least he had a home to go back to. Food to eat. Dean was right. He was spoiled. They both were.

Approaching the glass doors, Roman was surprised to see the sign on the door was switched to Closed.

It confused him. It was over an hour until closing time. The lights were still on inside. Roman rapped on the glass with a knuckle. No answer. He pressed his face to the door. He couldn't see anyone, not Neville nor Cody nor Neville.

It appeared to be empty. Truly closed, except for the lights.

He knocked again. Louder. Harder. Longer.

Nobody came to let him in.

Roman stared inside once more. This time he caught something he hadn't before.

A shoe on the ground sticking straight up, the rest of the body the shoe assuredly belonged to blocked by the front counter.

Like someone had fallen asleep.

Or fallen over.

Roman switched both bags of food to one hand and tugged on the door. Locked. _Shit, what the hell's going on_? Roman's anxiety might have had a point, for once, right now. He decided to try one more thing before making any official—and illegal—plans to break in.

He looked up the store's phone number online.

Dialed it and waited.

 _Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring_.

If he listened closely, he could hear the phone ringing inside.

Nobody answered.

This was creepy.

Where were they?

On break?

Why would the three of them shut down the store and leave together without more than a Closed sign on the door to alert potential patrons?

Something wasn't right.

Roman decided to initiate his plan.

He set the food on the ground, lifted his leg, and kicked the door above the handle. He didn't want to break the glass and injure himself—or force costly repairs—but he had to know what was going on. Hoping it was nothing, all just a mistake, he kicked the door again. And again. And again.

The glass couldn't withstand each mighty kick. The door cracked in some places. He aimed for chips near the door handle. Once there was enough of a bend in the door frame, Roman squeezed his hand through the opening and unlocked the door from the inside.

The door squeaked open. He stalked inside.

Stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the pointed-up shoe indeed belonged to someone lying behind the counter.

Neville.

Roman's chest went rigid. "Neville," he choked out, falling to his knees beside the sleeping—unconscious?—Neville. He placed two fingers beneath Neville's jaw. The skin was warm. A good sign. He could pick up the faintest of pulses. Another good sign.

What the hell had happened here?

"Neville," Roman said frantically, tapping Neville's shoulder. He didn't want to move Neville's body in case there was a neck or spinal injury. "Neville, hey, come on, wake up, please, come on…"

Neville didn't move.

Roman ran a hand over his mouth. "Shit." He started to stand, to reach for the phone behind the counter to call 911, when he heard a grunt. Neville's head shifted slightly, then he let out a noisy cough.

"Neville," Roman said. He watched Neville's eyes flutter behind the lids, then slowly open.

"R-Roman?"

"Hey. You alright? What the fuck happened?"

"I-I can't remember," Neville groaned. "Blurry…" He squeezed his eyes closed.

Roman was about to ask where Cody and Dean were until he realized what a stupid question that was. Neville wouldn't know. He was passed out and couldn't remember anything. He searched the store as Neville roused more and more.

He finally found Cody, his body slumped behind one of the far back shelves as though placed there in the fetal position on purpose. He touched Cody's shoulder and called, "Cody. Hey. Can you hear me?"

Neville stumbled to his feet, gripping the edge of the counter for balance. "What happened? Were we robbed?"

"I don't think so. Register isn't open. Unless they robbed you, then knocked you out?"

Neville shook his head. "No. Don't remember that."

"Do you remember any of it?" Roman touched Cody's cheek with the back of his hand. Warm skin.

"Uh…give me a second…" Neville put a hand over his eyes and groaned. "I remember a woman. She was in here. Didn't say a word to us, even when we said hi and asked if we could help her find anything."

"A woman?"

"She's the last person I remember seeing besides…Dean."

Dread gripped Roman, suffocated him. Dean. Where was he? Roman swallowed hard. He was sweating all over. He searched the store three times over, in the bathroom, in a back area he was certain regular customers were not allowed to enter. No sign of Ambrose, not anywhere.

"She wasn't alone," Neville went on. Now he was tending to Cody's side. Roman would have noticed Cody finally start to awaken if he wasn't currently holding in a massive panic attack. He restarted his search, looking up and down aisles he'd already seen were empty. "She was with someone."

"Who?" Roman huffed.

" _Huge_ guy, Roman. Like, seven feet tall. He didn't say anything, either. He was wearing a mask. I think I remember asking him about it, if it was like a cosplay or something—"

"WHERE THE HELL IS DEAN!?" Roman screamed. He'd covered every inch of the facility on foot, save for the ceiling. The last place he checked several times over was the office. Nothing there but a clutter of paperwork, filing cabinets, a radio, a disorganized desk, and a security monitor.

Security monitor…

Neville sat Cody up slowly. "Hey, buddy, you're okay. Can you breathe? How do you feel?"

"Peachy," Cody groaned.

Roman returned from the office. "Cody, you okay?"

"I think so."

"I need you to call 911. Report a break-in or something. Neville, show me how to use this security equipment in the office. We can pull up the footage and find out what happened."

"I know what happened," Cody said. Neville grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. "Well, some of it. I remember coming out of the bathroom and seeing Dean on the floor and Neville with this… _Goliath_ man. He was squeezing Neville tight like he was giving him a bear hug or something…then that chick was standing next to him, just…watching. I couldn't get away. He might be a mammoth, but he's real quick on his feet. He let Neville fall down and came after me next…"

"Fucking hell." Roman wasn't sure he wanted to see the security footage now…but he had to know what happened to Dean. No offense to Neville and Cody, he was glad they were alright, but protecting Dean was more crucial right now.

Neville sat at the computer and slowly worked the system back to the last piece of footage where the three of them were standing up, conscious. Sure enough, Roman watched as two people entered the shop. He recognized the woman immediately. Short, choppy brown hair, dark eyes, tall enough to kick him in the back of the skull, armed with a high heel.

Abigail Wyatt.

He didn't recognize the man with her, but Neville and Cody hadn't been exaggerating calling him a mammoth, Goliath. Perhaps he stood at just an inch or two below seven feet, but he was tall and husky. He had the familiar bristly beard of a Wyatt family member, yet most of it was concealed by a black sheep mask.

The video did not include audio, but Roman could practically hear what was going down. Neville greeted them from behind the counter. Abigail's lips didn't part. Dean rounded the corner and froze, immediately recognizing Abigail. He shouted something and backed up behind the counter. Neville gave him a curious stare.

Abigail still didn't speak.

Suddenly the towering man at Abigail's side reached over the counter and grabbed Neville with both immense hands by his shirt. He lifted a panicking Neville into the air and flung him all the way across the store. From a different angle, Roman watched in fear as Neville's body struck against a display table.

Dean tried swinging a punch at the lofty masked stranger, but he lifted Dean into the air, too. Instead of hurling him like a baseball, he wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and compressed Ambrose against his body. As Cody had described it, like a bear hug. Dean's legs flailed beneath him as he fought for breath. The attacker held him in this chokehold until Dean stopped squirming. His legs went still. His body went limp.

Roman's eyes welled with tears. He felt like the sole viewer of a miserable horror movie, even with Neville right next to him. Neville watched on, the color completely drained from his face. He'd witnessed all of this, sort of, and it still frightened him.

The two watched as Abigail and her accomplice lay Dean's motionless body across the counter, then moved onto Neville. Once more he executed his chokehold, and Neville couldn't escape or squirm out of his hold before he, too, went unconscious. Roman bit down hard on his lip as he watched Cody step back into view, take in the horrific sight, then desperately try to lock himself in the office. After choking out his third victim of the night, Abigail watched her abettor deposit Cody and Neville's bodies in places not seen—not that well, anyway—from the outside of the store looking in.

Then they approached Dean again. The masked assailant scooped Dean into his arms and held him like a baby. Abigail looked down at the fallen Dean, fingers brushing through a few strands of his hair, then stared straight up into the camera.

And smiled.

As though she was smiling right at Roman. Cutting right through his heart.

She had Bray Wyatt's smile.

In the next minute, Abigail had retrieved a couple of classic movie posters off the wall. She grabbed a marker from a cup off the desk and scribbled out messages on the backs of each poster. Her partner in crime held onto Dean, watching her work at whatever she was doing. Then she lifted the first poster up so the camera had a complete view of it.

"HELLO ROMAN", it said with a smiley face underneath the letters. Roman's throat closed up. He couldn't breathe. He tried pulling air in through his nose, but all that did was make him sniffle.

"Jesus," Neville breathed.

Abigail held up the second poster, depicting another sinister message. "WANT TO PLAY? COME AND FIND US" Another eerie smiley face cut into him as deeply as Abigail's real smile.

Abigail folded the posters and tucked them under her arm, scooped down to kiss Dean's head, then she and her partner—whoever he was—another Wyatt brother?—left the scene of the attack.

But not before locking the door with a key stolen off the desk and turning the sign on the door from Open to Closed.

They'd done it on purpose. To keep people out. At least for long enough until they could escape.

But how had they gotten through town with an unconscious Dean in that man's arms?

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except where he was _now_.

"Who are they, Roman?" Neville's voice asked somewhere beside him.

"Police are coming," Cody's voice said somewhere behind him.

Both were mere echoes in the distance. Roman's vision was blurry. It was hard to focus. Hard to breathe.

He was scared completely out of each sense, but the pain of witnessing Dean getting kidnapped by those monsters ignited a black fire that consumed him from the inside out. Rage. Paper covers rock, fury triumphs over fright. How dare they, how _dare_ they? Dean Ambrose was _his_ man, and on his life he swore to protect Dean no matter what.

So far he was failing.

He had to get Dean back.

Protect him.

Save him.

But, came a haunting word that wouldn't leave him alone, _how_?


	39. Chapter 39

**I hope you guys are ready for what's coming up next...it's pretty exciting. Special thanks to penelo14 for helping me out with some of this chapter. You're a genius, girl. ;) Enjoy~**

* * *

Roman had never been questioned by the police before, as a suspect nor as a witness.

It happened once and he didn't want it to ever happen again.

The uniformed officers forced him to recollect every harrowing detail of his discovery. The questions were unending. Neville and Cody were put under the same inquiry. What was to be learned by hounding the witnesses? The facts of the circumstances were made physically apparent from the confiscated security tapes: Abigail Wyatt and that freak giant attacked the three Escape Velocity employees, leaving two behind and capturing one.

Roman's heart was as frigid as the air and dark as the sky. He was exhausted by the questions, and it was the greatest crusade against his life to not break down crying in front of the officers.

He only had one question for them in return. "I'll get him back, right?"

A female officer tried consoling him with a smile that looked rehearsed. "It'll take time, but try not to worry. We've got the best guys on the case."

The Springs' police department's best guys weren't good enough for Roman.

He wouldn't be satisfied until he found Dean himself.

It beat the hell out of waiting around for answers.

The questions hadn't been the hardest part. Calling Seth to tell him the news was.

" _No_ ," Seth whimpered. "No, no, please God, no, no, Roman, no, no, Roman, _no_. No! NO!"

He had wanted to drive to the shop. Check out the scene. _Why_? Roman wondered. What good would that do? It would only expose Seth's safety to danger. Seth shouldn't drive in his condition. Neither should Roman, but he had to get home at some point.

Roman attempted the drive after the police finally let him go. But not before making him write down everything he'd just confessed to him. His hand hurt from scrawling out the surly details.

The quiet was deafening. He could hear nothing but his own screams.

He turned to the radio for aid.

"…perhaps one of the best-known Eagles songs, released as a single in February 1977, here is 'Hotel California.' I'm Chuck Squire, and this is 98.1 KKFM, the city's best classic rock station—"

Roman thumped the radio off. _Fuck you too, universe_.

He parked in the lot back home and trudged towards the door at a sick snail's pace. The lights were on inside. He unlocked the door. Seth was waiting for him, marching the floor of the living room, arms folded squeezed against his chest. Roman was weary and Seth was well aware of it. He caught a nearly fainting Roman in his arms.

Roman lost it. He wailed into Seth's shoulder.

"We'll get him back, Roman," Seth said. Roman couldn't buy the tremor in his voice. "We _will_."

"I know, I just…I thought it was over. I thought life would be _normal_."

"So did I. But we've pulled through some tough shit before…and we'll pull through this…"

"How are you so sure?"

"Because we're a team, Ro." Seth held onto his shoulders and berthed his gaze into Roman's. "You, me, Dean…we're forged out of iron. We're an unstoppable force. We're unyielding. Wyatt called himself powerful? His whole family did, but we're so much higher above all they were capable of. Look how hard they tried to knock us down. Came close, but they never succeeded. We always won. And we'll win again. Sister Abigail has fucked with the wrong family."

Roman felt his eyes glistening with tears. "You're so damn confident. How are you doing this?"

"Believe me, I'm scared as hell. But…" Seth licked his lips. "I know Dean's alright for now. At the very least, I know he's alive."

"How?"

"You told me in that video, Abigail wrote you a note…by name, she called you out to come and find them. Her and the sick bastard who helped her kidnap our boy. She doesn't just want him, Roman, she wants you, too. And me, probably, just 'cause I was there at the destruction of her entire family. He's bait. She's waiting for us."

"I will fucking deliver," Roman growled. He wanted his wrath to guide each step, not his worry or anything stemming from it. They were two separate captains in his life. He swore allegiance to revenge, not fright.

"You haven't heard from her yet?"

"No. Not yet."

"It's a matter of time, I'm so sorry to say. We just have to wait."

"No, I can't, Seth, I can't…" Roman closed his eyes. Migraines were sensual massages compared to this anguish. "I can't just sit around and wait. It's what I thought to myself when the police wanted me to just 'wait' for them to get the job done. It's up to us, Seth. We're on our own. The police can't help us against her. They don't know what they're up against."

"Neither do we."

"I have a better idea than they do. She's a Wyatt." Were they both? Abigail and her beefy associate?

"I understand you're taking this personally, Roman. I am too." Seth kneaded the taut flesh on his shoulder. "That's what she wanted to do, and damn if she didn't succeed. I wish there was a way to speed up the process. Hell, I wish I could reverse time so the two of us could be at the shop waiting for those bastards. And when the time comes, we _will_ take care of business. We _will_ save him. But right now…there's seriously nothing we can do. I'm sorry, Roman. I'm so, so sorry. We have to wait on her to make the next move."

Roman opened his eyes. "What if the next move is—"

"It's not," Seth said in a way that actually made Roman start to believe him. "She needs him alive. As much as this fucking hurts to say…what good is dead leverage?"

Roman winced. "Guess so…"

"It'll be Mission: Impossible to get our minds off this. But let's just put on a show, drink some coffee…wait and see. Maybe you'll even get some sleep."

"No chance."

Seth frowned. "Yeah. Guess that was a dumb notion."

The story had yet to make the news, so Roman didn't leave the TV on that channel for long. A late-night crime drama filled the next hour, insufferable, tedious, dreary. Roman didn't hear the characters on the show. He sipped his coffee—Seth prepared it black, the way he liked it—on autopilot. Seth sat on the other side of the couch, not saying a word, head most likely as loaded as Roman's.

Roman stared at Caroline, perched in her stand next to the TV. She hadn't been the guitar Dean carried into Java Central week after week, but she was a worthy substitute of a reminder. His leather jacket was draped in half next to the guitar stand. Of course he hadn't worn the damn thing to work tonight. Not that Abigail would have allowed him the luxury of a coat in the cold as she had him escorted out of the store…

Roman remembered the jacket, too. He remembered that night. The night everything changed.

" _Want your usual_?"

" _Depends. What's my usual_?"

" _Tall salted caramel mocha with an extra pump of caramel_."

" _You're good_."

Roman had that order memorized only a few weeks after Dean started playing at the coffeehouse. He remembered adding extra caramel into it that night. Dean had noticed.

" _I feel like we need a Kindness to Strangers course in every university worldwide_."

" _Think a lot of people might flunk it. It'd be a waste of resources."_

" _Might be right about that, Roman._ "

How wonderful his name had sounded in Dean's heavenly voice, across those delicious-looking lips.

" _What about you? You got a major? Other hobbies? Or even a name_?"

" _Name_?"

" _You never really introduce yourself. Just hop on stage and do your thing_."

" _Guess that's true_." That half-smile that set Roman ablaze inside. " _Dean_."

They met again, this time outside the coffeehouse. Bray Wyatt blotted his perfect picture with soulless eyes, a husky figure, smoker's voice, Satan's laugh.

Roman saving him the first time of many.

" _If you ever hurt him again, I will find you and finish you off my fucking self. That understood_?"

" _Shit, man. You must be acing Badass 204. That was sick_."

Dean trying too late to sidestep Roman's presence in his life.

 _"I'm a weird guy, Ro. Beneath this somewhat-appealing exterior is a world of whack. In here, a conundrum. I'm not a book you can flip through and figure out completely. Hell, I don't even know what I'm thinking half the time…see, you're the type of guy that someone like me—or anyone, really—could take an interest in. College student. Working part-time. Likes comics and rock music and Halo. Me, on the other hand? Not so much_ … _I'm kind of a freak, in case you haven't noticed? Anyone who cares to get to know me finds out pretty fast that I'm not like most people, if anyone else in the world. They don't like to be around someone who doesn't even know what's going on in his own head. Just saying, it's not too late if you wanna skip out on whatever it is we've got going on right now. I think you're great. You are worthy of someone's interest. I'm just an oddity._ "

" _I am very much interested in you_."

That was when Dean fell in love with Roman. According to him.

The first time Roman held his hand.

" _Don't get to hear that very often. Could you say it again_?"

" _I'm interested in you_."

Roman grabbed at the Superman pendant dangling from his neck. God, he missed Dean.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his hoodie.

He reached for it instinctively, not realizing at first that Seth was staring at him eccentrically.

Reality gave him a cold welcome back from his pleasant memories.

Dean's number jumped off the screen at him. Roman hadn't even realized they'd stolen it along with kidnapping Dean.

It wasn't a call that made his phone vibrate over and over, but rather a series of texts. Roman read each one.

 **1-8-3-0**

 **3-4-4-0**

 **18-5-4-8-5-18-18-9-14-7**

 _What_? he wondered. _What do these mean_?

He moved onto the next message.

 **Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; I shall be free when thou art through. Take all there is—take hand and heart; there must be somewhere work to do.**

The last text was a picture message. A very dark photo of Dean lying on a rocky ground, most likely outside. It was hard to tell if he was unconscious or awake in the photo, even bound or free to move. But one thing was unmistakeable: it _was_ Dean.

Roman's throat shrank. Respiration was difficult.

There was a single line of text underneath the picture. **COME AND SAVE ME WHEN YOU FIGURE IT OUT ROMIE! :) :) :)**

The words coiled themselves with thorns intact around Roman's throat and throttled him, forcing salty tears to his eyes. _She's even more demented than her brother._

"Dammit," Roman said, droplets of affliction skimming down both cheeks. "Dammit, dammit."

"Is that Abigail?" Seth asked.

"She sent me all these numbers…then a quote from a poem." He left the part about the photo out. He didn't need Seth to panic. Not when Seth was the more serene one.

"A poem?"

"Yeah. I know it." Roman had actually read the poem in his Literature of the 19th Century class. It was _Death_ by Helen Hunt Jackson. Perhaps Abigail was deranged, but she was literate.

The poem's title was unnerving. That wasn't a clue—that was just taunting Roman.

"Give me the numbers," Seth ordered. "Let's decode them. It's gotta mean something, right?"

"Yeah. She said 'when I figure it out.' I'm guessing they're a clue of some kind."

"Another fucking mystery, Scoob."

"Jinkies." Roman said it without humor.

Before long, Seth had a notebook and his laptop open in front of him on the dining room table. He'd written Abigail's numbers on the blank page. His fingers clacked away on the keyboard. Roman fixed them each another cup of coffee while Seth worked. _Long night ahead_ , he thought.

"Anything yet?" Roman asked, delivering the steaming cups to the table.

"So far, not really." Seth removed his glasses to rub his eyes. "My first guess was they're part of an address or a phone number, but nothing came up on Google. Nothing useful, anyway. Laptop brands, mostly. I think they're separate, though, by groups. Notice the break between the numbers? So I think 1-8-3-0, 3-4-4-0, and this big cluster here are all detached from the others."

Roman sat down beside Seth. Seth took a sip of his coffee, then cracked his neck. He looked like a late-night reporter, working overtime to crack a major story wide open.

"One of the most basic forms of codes is numbers to letters. You know, like when each number represents a letter of the alphabet? Especially these repeated numbers here, like 18 and 5. Could be vowels."

"You don't think Abigail is that simple-minded, do you?"

"I don't know what she is. She seems pretty fucked up in the head, if you ask me. But it's worth finding out."

"Yeah. Go for it."

Seth did so.

Roman pondered the quotes from the poem still. It _wasn't_ a clue…right? She'd just sent that as a way to torture him…right?

Was it a coincidence that Helen Hunt Jackson was an icon of Colorado history?

Seth made Roman jump when he slammed two fists against the table and screamed, " _Fuck_!"

"What's the matter?" Roman asked.

"I started with the longest set of numbers, and after using that basic numbers-to-letters cipher, I ended up with this." Seth dropped the pen, annoyed. It clattered against the table. Roman leaned over and saw where Seth had written out the numbers, and the matching letters underneath.

 **18-5-4-8-5-18-18-9-14-7**

 **REDHERRING**

"Oh, screw that," Roman said, glowering at the useless numbers. He could practically see Abigail's notorious smiley face at the end of the words.

"She knew what she was doing, and she's a _bitch_!" Seth hollered. With a huff, he lowered his voice again. "The other two sets of numbers have zeroes in them, and those don't fit into that particular cypher. Not unless I make 'A' equal '0' and 'B' equal one and so forth, but even that turns them into 'BIDA' and 'DEEA', so unless you know the meaning of that…"

"I don't."

"Back to square fucking one then," Seth muttered. He slurped his coffee down.

Roman stared at the remaining numbers.

It wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't have been.

He didn't even believe in those.

His Literature of the 19th Century professor had spent three weeks lecturing on the works of Helen Hunt Jackson. That's how important she was to Colorado history, at least from a literature standpoint.

Suddenly that top number was looking familiar.

"Hey, Google Helen Hunt Jackson's birthday," Roman said.

Seth knitted his brows. "Okay?" _Tap tap tap tap_ went his fingers on his keyboard again. "Let's see…October 15, 1830."

1830.

Nope. No coincidence.

"Boom," Roman said.

Seth gasped. "Is that it? The first number is that year?"

"Thinking so. That line Abigail sent me is from a poem by Helen Hunt Jackson."

"What about the 3440? That's not a year, not yet anyway."

 _I'm not giving up on this lead_. "Let me try something." Roman leaned over Seth, erased the word "birthday" from the search bar, and broadened the Googling to simply "Helen Hunt Jackson." It didn't help. He couldn't find the numbers anywhere related to her on these pages.

He tried something else. "Helen Hunt Jackson 3440."

At last, a breakthrough.

The third result of the page was from the website Roadtrippers. It told of Helen Hunt Falls in Colorado Springs, a waterfall named in honor of the poet.

The address? 3440 North Cheyenne Canon Road.

"That's where he is," Roman said, tapping a fingernail on the screen, over an image of the waterfall.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely." Roman rushed across the living room and yanked the coat closet door open.

"Good thing she sent that bit of the poem. We would have been stumped otherwise. Even if you didn't know it, the shit would have been easy to Google. She gave herself away with it."

"I think her intentions were to screw with us a little bit, play with us, but she didn't want us to be completely in the dark. She wanted us to figure it out."

Seth nodded, understanding. "Because—"

"You were right. He's bait. She's waiting for us." Roman's eyes were black. The raging fire had devoured him entirely. "And like I said. I will fucking deliver."

* * *

 **A/N: You guys ready for the next big scene!? I know I am...I'll deliver it pretty soon. :) It pains me to announce, though, that the climax is up and coming. And what follows a climax? The falling action and of course, the resolution...this particular story will be ending within the next few chapters. I am carrying this on into a series, as most of you know, so our story with these boys is far from over, but I know wrapping up this story is going to hurt. I'll probably shake and tear up, because I'm pathetic like that. :P This is one of the longest, most fun, challenging, wonderful projects I've ever put time, research and effort into. I'm so happy to know it's been received. Not gonna lie, I didn't think it would be at first. You guys have been wonderful supporters in my journey with this story. I'm looking forward to its future as a series, and its successors. But until then, let's enjoy what we still have right here and now, shall we? :) See y'all in the next chapter~ AND THANK YOU AGAIN FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT! I love you guys!**


	40. Chapter 40

**This is it, guys. The big climax. Suspense. Drama. Anxiety. Adventure time!**

 **Disclaimer: I wanted to write this as realistically as possible, but I'm also counting on my readers to rely on suspension of disbelief for a while, and just enjoy the story in case I got anything wrong about anatomy or the human body's realistic withstandings against Mother Nature... I can't say I have experience with anything that you're about to ready about, so bear with me and my limited research. ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

Dean's leather jacket. It fit. Wasn't too bulky. Wouldn't slow him down.

Nineteen miles. Forty minutes. Slick roads.

Seth.

That was what Roman had. All he had.

"Been a while since I brought this baby out to play," Seth said. The pallid moonlight soaking through the windshield gave Roman enough light to see Seth carefully adjusting a handgun in a holster on his jeans, hidden under his hoodie.

"You have a gun?" Roman asked.

"Of course. I don't show it off much. You know what Dean would do if he ever found it?"

"Probably something really stupid."

"I used to go shooting with my dad all the time. He taught me all about gun safety and how to handle them and aiming techniques and whatnot. So don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

"I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about what you might have to do. You ever shot anyone before?"

"Nope. Just paper targets. I'm hoping it won't come to that. Maybe Abigail will wuss out once she realizes it's her life on the line."

"And if it does come to that?"

"Like you've been saying, Ro. I'll deliver."

Roman wasn't sure. He couldn't see Seth killing anybody. He couldn't see _himself_ killing anyone. But if worse came to worst, there wouldn't be a choice. Dean's life would be protected at all costs.

The drive was stiff with quietude. Roman didn't touch the radio. Nothing would help.

Words played over in his head instead.

" _I won't let anything happen to you_."

" _I trust you_."

 _Keep trusting me, Dean. I'm coming for you_.

Roman hadn't called the police yet. He would, or Seth would. He had a plan. In the black of night, especially at these falls where the city was distant and any source of light could be seen within a two-mile radius, Roman didn't want Abigail to see or hear any police cars coming for her. She still had Dean. She could do anything to him. She hadn't instructed Roman to come alone, but it was a message he'd read between the lines of her taunting and that creepy smiley face. He had to conserve Dean's protection.

She didn't need to know about Seth. If she didn't already.

Roman veered his car down a rocky road. They were closed in on both sides by high rock walls. Gravel shredded underneath the tires. Seth stared forward, watching dust lift past the windshield. Roman's fingers were white, gripping the steering wheel. His hand was cramping from how tight the hold was.

The rocky path opened to a smoother road. Signs indicated legal parking times up ahead. The falls were gushing in the dead of winter's night.

 _Why here? Of all the places to hold him_?

There was no way she couldn't hear the car's engine. They were alone.

Roman shut the car off. It didn't take long for the air to chill inside.

"See 'em?" Roman asked. It was too dark to see a damn thing.

"No. Bet my next paycheck she's up there, though." Seth indicated the steep hiking trial that wound and weaved to the top of the waterfall. The peak was invisible from here. "She wants us to work for it."

"Fine." Roman pushed the car door open. "I'm going up to look around. If she's up there…that's where it's all going down, I guess."

"I'll linger for a bit. Call the cops. Sneak up on the other side. Stay in the shadows."

"Good plan." Roman made the mistake of touching the top of the car door. It nearly froze to his skin. He drew his hand away.

"Ro."

"Yeah?"

Seth stared at him, hazel eyes overcast with concern. "Be careful. Please."

"I will be. You too."

"Go get Dean."

"We both will."

Roman pressed the car door closed. The nippy air tore at his cheeks, his hands, seeping through his hair and caressing his neck. He was too pissed off to even feel it.

The hiking trail consisted mostly of brick steps spread far apart so Roman had to lengthen his strides and practically spring from one to the next to the next. Colorado's dry air and high altitude made it difficult for even natives to breathe sometimes, and this strenuous climb singed his throat and set his lungs on fire against the cold. Good thing Roman was in shape, or he might have collapsed halfway up. He didn't take his time. He pushed himself up the mountain. Everything hurt from his head to his feet and every muscle between them.

He didn't care. Couldn't afford to fall victim to his own debility.

The falls were loud, dampening the air. Wind crept through the trees. The steep trail suddenly flattened out. Roman jogged a little ways more, then stopped. He saw something up ahead on the path. Some _one_.

A girl with choppy hair dressed comfortably for the weather. Coat, mittens, beanie hat. She would have looked normal to anyone else.

Stopping his run helped Roman remember how tired he was. How badly he hurt. His lungs pulled each breath of air in deep, loud.

"Hello, Roman."

Her voice. So… _normal_. Yet Roman knew what she was capable of. He'd witnessed it.

"Where is he, Abigail?"

She smiled in the night. "Camping! We've had a fun little trip tonight. We went on a hike, rock climbing, swimming…" The word was so menacing that it made Roman cringe, just the way she said it. "In a little while, we're going white water rafting. But oh, shoot," she said, swaying her body, "Braun forgot to rent rafts. Oh well. We can make do with what we have."

Roman shook his head. "You're even further off your rocker than your brothers were."

That did the trick. Abigail's smile sank to a scowl. "Don't you dare speak ill of the dead. It's all because of you, Roman. You and your dear, sweet little Ambrose. It's all your _fault_."

"They tried to kill us. We fought back. It's human nature."

Abigail _tisked_ her tongue like a disapproving grandmother. How could someone look so normal, act so normal, yet come across as so twisted and demented? "My brothers were my role models growing up. They taught me everything I know in life. About fairness. About justice. About responsibility. About crime…and punishment."

God, did Roman hate that word across the lips of a Wyatt.

"You and Dean were very, very naughty. And now, because of your crime, there must be punishment. How's _that_ for human nature?"

Roman grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing her arms through her thick furry coat. "Where is he?" he snarled.

"Be careful, Roman," she sang. "Braun is watching us. And he's very protective of me. Especially now that we've seen what a threat you are to our family." She craned her neck, looking ahead on the path.

The trail carried on to a sturdy bridge. Roman blinked, eyesight adjusting to the darkness. There was a small _tent_ on the bridge. Standing outside it was someone who hadn't been there before. A Herculean man. Abigail's associate, perhaps another brother, now that Roman thought about it. Easy to recognize. He was no longer wearing the sheep mask. Braun was his name? Appropriate.

Braun turned and jerked the flapping tent door open. His dunked his thickset arms into the tent and hauled Dean out of it. Dean's legs swung as they tried to make contact with the ground, but Braun dropped him to his knees instead. His hands were still bound, his mouth gagged by thick rope.

There was nothing, not one thing in the world—not the frost on his blueing skin or the fire in his lungs or the throb in his muscles—that hurt more than seeing Dean right there. More helpless than the guy had probably ever been in his life.

But at least, at _least_ , they'd stashed him away in a tent. Maybe it wasn't heated inside, maybe they hadn't thrown a blanket atop him while waiting for Roman, but anything was better than bare exposure to these frigid temperatures.

Dean's head joggled, from slumping towards the ground as his body absorbed the pain of the drop to lifting up to meet gazes with Roman. He looked relieved and somehow even sadder, all at once. Delighted to see Roman. Downcast that the situation wasn't over yet.

Roman made a break for it. He shoved past Abigail and charged towards Dean and Braun. Braun responded by lifting Dean once more with a hand around his throat.

"HEY!" Roman screamed.

Braun scooped Dean over the bridge's wooden railing and suspended him there. Roman lurched to a stop. Beneath a dangling Dean was not the waterfall or even the river, but a serrated crag which jutted out over the falls. Nature's way of protecting anyone who fell off the bridge. It was a ten-foot drop, Roman guessed. The gush of the waterfall cascaded under the bridge, under the great rock, with a roar. It was not a huge waterfall, and the flow was not the strongest, but it was dangerous enough. Roman couldn't imagine how cold that water was. He didn't want to find out.

And he didn't want Dean to learn.

"Wait," Roman said. His voice was grating. He lifted both hands, red and numb, towards Braun. Dean hacked against the force on his throat, against the gag. "Just wait. Please. Please."

"You certainly didn't hear my brothers begging for their lives." She was loud, suddenly behind him, and it startled him. "Then again, they did have much more dignity than you have, Roman. But keep saying it. I like it."

But Roman didn't want to address Abigail nor Braun. He looked at Dean instead. It wouldn't be long now before help arrived. It couldn't. He just had to stall. He had to protect Dean. That was his mission. It always had been, it always would be.

"It's gonna be okay, Dean," Roman said, trying to raise his voice to communicate the sincerity of his words. "You know that, right?"

It was hard for Dean to nod, but he managed. He couldn't speak. Not with that rope in his mouth. Only whimper. Braun slowly lowered him further down, closer to the crag.

"There's a reason you call me Superman," Roman said. "And he's not gonna let you down."

"Oh, give me a break, Reigns," Abigail said. "Enough with the schmaltz. It's nauseating."

"Dean," Roman said, ignoring her. "Do you trust me?"

Dean attempted another nod. He was scared. It was clear.

Abigail must have given some signal behind Roman's back, because Braun nodded, looking her way, then released Dean.

"No!" Roman shouted.

The _thump_ of his body smacking against the rock was nearly muffled by the flow of the falls; however, no gag nor the crash of the water could mute Dean's screams. Roman was losing his mind, coming apart at the seams. Logic lost, he charged onto the bridge. Braun was quick to seize him by the arms. Roman caught a glimpse of Dean beneath them, positioned on his right side, arm crushed beneath him. His face was mangled with pain. His cries were carrying, destructive. Roman's own arm hurt, sympathy pain, compassionate to his angel's misery.

Instead of plunging onto the crag from the bridge, Abigail carefully traipsed onto it from the steep hill beside it. Roman prayed for her to lose her balance and tumble into the icy waters, but she took caution with each step. She treaded onto the rock and used her boot to shift Dean from his side to his back. Dean could look up at Roman from here. Helpless. Nearly hopeless. How to believe Roman now when he said everything would be alright? Even Roman was having trouble believing it.

Roman writhed in Braun's hold. _Any time now, Seth_.

Abigail glanced up at Roman and just smiled. It reminded him of her sinister smiley faces. She pushed against Dean's body with her boot again, rolling him closer and closer to the crag's narrow, jagged edge.

"NO!" Roman screamed. Braun held his figure firm, otherwise he would have been flailing. "ABIGAIL, DON'T! I SWEAR TO GOD!"

"Ah, _there_ it is!" Abigail cried. " _That's_ what I wanted to hear. But change your tone, Roman. It sounds like you're threatening me now."

Roman caved to her insufferable request. " _Please_ , don't! Don't _do this_! _Please_! PLEASE!"

"Music to my ears!" she howled like a wolf.

"MY TURN TO INSIST!" a different voice bellowed.

Seth. Roman had never felt more relieved in his life.

He stepped onto the bridge from the other side, gun raised in the air, pointed at Braun with a steady hold. A trained grip.

"Rollins!" she cried out in true surprise. _Finally, an advantage_ , Roman thought.

"You let them go, Abigail," Seth ordered. "You let them go!"

Abigail looked bemused. She pinned Dean to the rock with her boot on his chest. "Ambrose is six inches away from taking a dive, and Braun up there can break Roman's neck like it's a toothpick in less than a second. Let's see who's faster, Seth—you, or us."

Seth was not about to pick between Dean and Roman. He looked from Abigail and Dean to Braun and Roman, and back again, and back once more. He was getting nervous, flustered, cold. That couldn't happen.

They _all_ get out of this.

Roman had to help.

Seth had to shoot Abigail. Defend Dean. Which meant Braun couldn't be a threat.

Roman had to eliminate the threat.

At the very least, divert it.

But how?

Now that he was calmer, he could execute some form of an escape plan.

His legs were still free.

That was it.

And it would all happen quickly, so quickly.

Roman thrust his leg backwards and up, going for Braun's groin. Whether he hit it directly or not, he wasn't sure, but Braun's grip loosened enough for Roman to tear free. He whirled around and swung his fist up into Braun's jaw. It had very little, yet _some_ , impact on the giant.

Abigail gave Dean one last shove with her foot. His bound body plunged over the crag's edge. His screams disappeared with him.

" _DEAN_!" Roman wailed.

Seth fired the gun. Abigail's body buckled, collapsing on the rock.

Roman cast himself over the bridge's railing.

Braun moved to retrieve him. Seth fired the gun again, twice this time.

Roman leaped over Abigail's fallen, bleeding body and, without giving it a second thought, willingly jumped off the crag after Dean...

* * *

The weight of the water sent him down, down, down, faster than gravity hauled him. He was blind for several seconds, couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't feel much. The water was so cold that it burned him alive. For a moment he had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or even his own identity…falling sent him into a moment of absolute tranquility.

The peace stemming from delirium, of course.

No sane person would jump off a rock into a waterfall.

No person in love was a hundred percent _sane_.

But this? Roman was absolutely mad. Madder than Dean, madder than Bray Wyatt, madder than Abigail.

It was in the fall that he couldn't even care. He'd lost the ability to care or comprehend, or even _exist_ , it felt.

Not until Roman slapped against the pool following the deep drop. A slap back into reality. A woozy reminder that he was here with a purpose.

One purpose. One man.

Dean.

Roman tried opening his eyes. They stung like mad. He visualized them as red. He couldn't see a thing, not one thing. His body was frigid. His heart rate was dropping, dropping fast, faster than he'd plummeted from the rock. _Focus_ , something told him. _You're alive and you have work to do_.

Dean's hands had been bound.

Swimming would have been impossible.

If he was alive.

 _Air_ , the something told him next. _You need air._

Where was air?

 _Up. Go up. Move up. Press up_.

Roman kicked. Water slowed his motion. He felt the pressure around him lower more and more until finally he broke the surface. Another slap as he gasped, swallowing precious air. _Yep, you're alive. You sure are. Now move. Hurry_.

Roman blinked. His eyes hurt, but at least his vision was back. Somewhat. All around him was water and rocks. He hadn't hit any of them. The pool under the crashing falls had preserved him. The fall wasn't fatally strong or the force might have crushed him to death, if drowning or hypothermia didn't take care of that.

 _A million and one things could have killed you, and you're still alive. It's for a reason. Dean. Dean needs you. He needs you, Roman, so find him, dammit_!

"Dean!" Roman tried. He coughed up water instead. The name went unsaid. He spurted and gagged. He couldn't feel his arms. He went through the motions of swimming, remembering how to use his muscles in spite of the numbness. "DEAN!" he tried again. He could hear himself. But it did no good.

Roman twirled around like a ballerina underwater. He could see blue and red lights igniting the night. _Thank God_.

 _But Dean. Dean…oh, God, Dean, where are you_?

Something bobbed up ahead in the distance, further from the waterfall, not quite close enough to make it so shore by bouncing alone.

Was that him?

Roman swam for it. His intake of air was desperate, determined. The water got shallower the closer he got to the figure, the shore. Soon his toes could touch the bottom of the pool. He pushed himself on and on. It hurt. Everything hurt. This was miserable.

 _Almost over_. Whatever this "something" was speaking to him, it sure was optimistic. Didn't sound like his voice, and he did consider himself to be positive. Just not _this_ positive.

The figure sank underwater. Roman could nearly run, as fast as a man could "run" in deep waters, anyway.

It made him move even faster. Otherworldly strength, adrenaline, bewitched him. He couldn't even feel the cold anymore. Was reality drifting away? Was he dying?

It seemed brighter out here somehow.

Perhaps so.

Roman reached the area he'd first seen the figure. He took a breath and cast his head underwater on the search.

Dean was beneath him. Not thrashing. Not moving at all, not on his own. Water pushed him further away. Roman followed at greater speeds.

He reached for Dean. _Almost…there_ …

His fingers wrapped around the very edge of Dean's shirt. _Almost…_!

Roman gave the shirt a tug. Dean floated closer to him. Roman closed his arms around Dean and resurfaced, both faces above the water. Roman gasped in another delicious, cold breath.

His lungs were nearly frozen. _Get out of the water, Roman. Humans might be able to last for ten to twenty minutes in this shit, but you need to get out._

He'd learned that information in a health course. Strange it was coming to him now.

Roman trudged with Dean towards the shore. The water receded to his chest, to his stomach, to his knees, to his feet…he was out. They were out of the water.

He collapsed with Dean on the damp, rocky shore. He was weary. He didn't want to move.

It wasn't long before they were surrounded by men in uniforms. Roman was pulled away from Dean. "N-n-o, n-no," he tried to protest. _Don't take him away from me_. His muscles weren't working so well. His voice box was failing. He jerked like he was seizing. He felt a big towel, or maybe it was a blanket, drape around him. Two people escorted him on either side of him towards the flashing lights.

"D-D-D-D-Dean," he stammered.

"It's alright," a deep voice assured him. This time it was outward, not from within. "Come on. We're going to take care of you. Do you know your name?"

"D-D-D-D-Dean?"

"That's your name? Dean? What's your last name?"

"N-n-n-n-n-o-o-o, I-I-I-I'm-m-m R-R-R-R-o-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-a-a-a-n-n-n-n."

"Roman?"

"W-w-w-w-where's-s-s-s D-D-D-D-D-Dean?"

"Dean must be the other one," a different voice stated.

"He's alright," the first voice replied him. "They found a pulse on him. Weak, but it's there. Your name is Roman?"

They sat him down on the edge of an ambulance. Someone delivered another blanket. The two paramedics squatted in front of him. His sight had returned in full. His brain was still thawing out. Logic was coming back to him, critiquing him for what he'd done. _Did you really have to jump, Roman?_

 _Yep_ , he chastised it right back. _Saved Dean that way._

"What's your last name, Roman?"

"R-R-R-R-R-R-eign-n-n-n-s-s-s-s."

"Reigns? Like, in the summer, it _rains_?"

"W-w-w-why?" His shivering was dwindling now that these blankets were on him. Didn't stop the pain. Just the shaking. Some of it.

"I just want to make sure you're not confused."

"I-I-I p-p-r-r-r-obab-b-b-l-l-l-y have hypother-r-r-mia. I-i-i-f that's-s-s what you'r-r-r-e t-r-r-r-y-y-y-ing to f-f-f-igur-r-re out-t-t-t."

"We have a lot to figure out here, son. We really appreciate you helping us out."

"W-w-w-here's-s-s D-D-D-Dean?"

"He's in the other ambulance. They're treating him. You're both going to the ER for a checkup, alright? That's okay?"

"I w-w-want to s-s-s-ee-e-e him-m-m."

"You'll see him at the emergency room, Roman. Just hold tight for us, okay? You're awesome."

"I-I-I am-m?"

"From what I'm hearing, you pulled your friend out of the water. Might not have been smart, but it was a very bold thing to do."

"B-b-b-b-"

"What was that?"

"B-b-b-boyfriend. H-h-he's m-my b-b-boyfriend."

The paramedic smiled. "He's lucky to have you."

Roman looked up. In the crazy scene of the night, with lights flashing and people moving about, he caught one familiar face he was happy to see again. "S-S-Seth."

"Sorry?"

"Seth."

He stood behind the paramedics at a short distance. "Roman, you _jumped_ off the rock into the _waterfall_ ," he said, sounding more amazed than critical—but Roman could still sense the judgement. "You could have killed yourself, Ro."

"B-but I d-didn't."

"Yeah, you didn't. You're lucky to be alive."

"I-I am."

"Roman, we're going to put you in the ambulance now," the paramedic said, standing up. "Get those wet clothes off you. Get you somewhere warm, dry, and safe. Okay?"

"Take care of him," Seth said. "Please."

"We will. He's going to be alright. They both are."

Roman closed his eyes. He wanted to go to sleep. Couldn't, but at least he knew the next time he slept, it would be soundly, safely, and with Dean.

They were alive.


	41. Chapter 41

**Here it is, guys. The aftermath. The resolution. The last chapter of this story. I'll be posting an epilogue, but I couldn't bring myself to write it tonight. It'll probably be tomorrow. It's too unreal to think that this story is actually over. It actually bums me out pretty hardcore! I put so much emotion and heart into it. So many hours of writing and brainstorming and rewriting, and several minutes I read over all the kind reviews...they lifted me up, each and every one, every day. You guys are wonderful. I thank you with all my heart for sharing this journey with me. I can't wait to see where it goes from here. I'm excited to share it with you. A little tease of the next story in the "To Love A Lunatic" series: the title! "Who I Am." It comes from a song by Wade Bowen. It fits Dean's feelings for Roman well, and there's a line in it that says "more than words"! A fun coincidence! :) Dean will most definitely be singing the acoustic version of that song sometime in the next story. So be on the lookout for that. ;) But until that point, enjoy this final chapter, and gear up for the epilogue~**

* * *

Roman had a laundry list of injuries.

A moderate case of hypothermia. Frostbite on two of his fingers. He'd sliced his foot open on a rock in the pool without even realizing it; the cold water and shock had numbed the pain and impeded blood flow until he was in the ambulance. It was treated with a surgical tape closure. Bruising on his back. A hyperextended elbow. A pulled hamstring and whiplash from the jump.

His at-home care instructions were practically a _manual_.

His—and the doctor's—biggest concern was his damaged leg. He'd suffered the laceration on the same leg with the pulled hamstring. Roman's head rolled forward and back, eyes leaden, as his enervated brain tried to make sense of her instructions. Her voice was a vestige of someone who was there, yet felt so far away.

"You may use crutches to move around if _absolutely necessary_ ," she directed. "You'll heal up quickest by staying off of it. Use RICE: rest, ice, compression, and elevation for your hamstring. That can also be used for your whiplash. As for your foot, again, _stay off of it_. Keep the area clean. I'm prescribing a cream for you to use twice a day, and some pain medicine for…well, everything else. Keep the foot bandaged. Change them no less than twice a day. And your fingers, keep them under wraps." She smiled at her lame pun. "In your follow-up appointment tomorrow, we'll check them again. Your frostbite isn't severe, so there's little risk for amputation. Are you with me, Roman? Any questions?"

"Can I see them?" Roman grumbled like a drunkard. He was sure that wasn't the first time he'd asked that question.

She smiled at him. "Let me see what I can do."

Roman leaned back on the pillow and nearly sighed himself to sleep. He'd gotten here sometime last night, now brilliant sunlight was suffusing the curtains over the single window in the tiny room. He didn't know what time it was. Early or late. Daytime, that was obvious. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to eat.

But most of all, he craved his family.

Roman glanced through tired eyes off to the side. Two crutches leaned against the bedpost. She'd mentioned those, hadn't she? Something about putting them to use. Roman grunted. He didn't want to. But he'd have to.

Looks like he'd be out of work for a while.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how damaging that would be financially.

A moment later he was no longer alone.

His eyes drew open. His doctor—damn his depletion from wiping her name from memory—stood in the doorway with an equally-weary Seth. His face erupted in bliss at the sight of Roman. Roman lifted from the bed, forgetting about his leg injury. Pain careened from his sole to his knee, and he stumbled forward.

The doctor flinched, but Seth caught him in a hold. "Careful," he said.

Seth eased Roman back onto the bed and shrouded him in his arms. Roman embraced Seth firmly. He felt so warm, so good...Roman was overwhelmed. Seth was alive. He wasn't even hurt. He'd been spared pain, physical anyhow, that night.

"You alright?" Seth asked.

"Think so," Roman answered. His voice was still rough, throat still stinging. "Will be."

Roman could feel Seth smiling. "'Course you will." Felt Seth's hand fondle his back. "It's official, Roman—you are one hundred million percent the _real_ Superman."

"News is out. Gotta change my secret identity _again_."

Seth pulled from Roman's hug, still smiling. "It's so good to see you alive. But I swear to God, don't you _ever_ jump off a waterfall _ever_ again." He pushed a finger against Roman's shoulders on the emphasized word. "It damn near killed me to watch Dean get pushed off, let alone witness you _jump willingly_ …"

Roman took hold of his finger. "Don't get held hostage by a psycho bitch on top of a waterfall, and I probably _won't_ ever do that ever again."

"Well, she's history now. She _and_ her behemoth brother."

Roman looked to the doctor next. "Dean?" he requested.

"He's still with his attending physician. I think they're almost done."

"Is he okay?"

"He's a little frazzled," Seth answered, "but I think he'll be okay. Guy's been to hell and back so much, he's got a bunch of travel points saved up."

"We should use them to go somewhere a little nicer than hell next time."

"I'll talk to Dean about it."

Roman wasn't giving up. "I'd really like to see him," he implored. "He's kind of the reason I'm in here in the first place. Please. Plus, I can practice using my crutches."

The doctor caved. "Alright. Come with me. Can you get to your crutches alright?"

Seth was on it. He helped position them under Roman's arm, then offered an arm of his own to lift Roman onto his good foot.

"You good?"

Roman took his first step—swing—with the crutches. Uncomfortable. Awkward. A pain in the ass. "Yeah. Good."

Roman followed Seth who followed Roman's doctor out of the exam room. They trailed her down a cramped, bleach-white hallway bustling with tumult. Two nurses nearly collided with Roman around a corner. Roman's doctor knocked on a closed door. As she pushed it open, Dean's voice cried out from within: "No!"

Concerned, Roman and Seth joined the doctor in the narrow doorway.

Dean was sitting up on the table. His head was swathed in a white bandage with a blot of red just above his eye, where he'd most likely sustained the injury that required the dressing. Both feet were wrapped in gauze. His right arm was pendent beside him.

"Mr. Moxley," his doctor stated, "it's _necessary_."

Seth and Roman traded looks. _Moxley_?

"I don't want that thing on me. Just give me medicine. I can cope."

"I _will_ give you medicine. But you need this as well. You have to heal properly."

"What's going on?" Roman asked. The sight of Dean, alive, talking, breathing manifested a bit of relief in him, but he couldn't accept all of it wholly just yet since there was clearly another issue present.

"He wants to put a splint on me," Dean accused like it was a crime punishable by death.

The doctor closed his eyes and took in a breath, as though praying for forbearance to Dean's behavior.

"Do you… _need_ a splint?" Seth queried.

"He cracked his his humerus and shattered his radius and ulna," the doctor explained.

"Oh. Yeah, dude, you need a splint."

"I can't," Dean said, shaking his head. "If he puts a splint on me, I have to come back in a few days for a cast. If he puts a cast on me, I have to wear the damn thing for six weeks. Six _weeks_!"

"De— _Jon_ ," Roman said, understanding Dean was once again using his Jon Moxley pseudonym for whatever reason. "You need it. Alright? You shattered your arm. It'll heal. You'll be fine."

"I can't play guitar with a cast."

"You can't play guitar with a broken arm, genius," Seth said.

"Please, Doctor Benjamin," Dean said. His beautiful eyes were spritzed with tears. Roman didn't see immature defiance or a juvenile outburst in Dean through this, but a fractured spirit determined to heal itself. "I've been without my guitar for _weeks_. I was only _recently_ able to play her again. My guitar is my life. I don't want to go without her for another long, long period of time. Please." Dean bit his lip. What was he going to do, change the doc's mind? His reaction was pushing Roman to sadness, but it had no impact on the medical professional.

"I'm sorry, Jon. But the sooner you get this on you, the sooner it can come off. Your arm will make a full recovery, and you can play as much guitar as you like."

Dean's mournful eyes shifted to Roman. Roman wished there was more he could do than shrug a shoulder and say, "I'm sorry."

His frown didn't lift, as though it had dried in place like concrete. But he didn't resist or protest any further as Doctor Benjamin secured his useless arm in a sling.

" _Had_ to be my good one, too," Dean sighed. "Just my luck."

"Misfortunate has a way of riding your ass," Seth said.

"Well, it can kiss it from that position."

"I'll go print your home care instructions," Doctor Benjamin said. Roman's doctor had scampered off a while ago. At last the three of them could be alone.

When he stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him, Dean hopped off the table and waddled towards Roman like the gauze dressings were house shoes. "Ro. I—" Dean licked his lips, eyes falling to the tile floor. "I really don't know how to thank you. I mean, Jesus," he said, laughter trembling. "You…you jumped off a goddamn _cliff_ for me. Into a _waterfall_. To save my life. Doctors said I might have drowned at the bottom if it wasn't for you. Not kidding when I say, they said I was _seconds_ from death."

Roman's chest constricted. "Perfect timing."

"Damn, I'll say. You…you just…" Dean shook his head. His ungroomed hair fell in messy locks over his taped forehead. "I love you so _much_. And I wish I could mean it more just by saying it. I _love_ you. You mean more to me than…than music. Than Caroline. More to me than Annie ever did. If it had been you up there, and I was coming after you, I would have jumped for you, too."

Roman blinked. Now his eyes were moist. "I know you would have, Dean. Come here."

Dean literally sprung into Roman's arms. Roman nearly fell over, but he caught Dean with the right amount of balance and muscle to hold him there for a long, long time. Dean's splint pressed into his ribs, but it was pain he could afford to ignore. Dean trapped his lips in a delicious kiss.

Roman had to set Dean down, break this kiss, when his weight was too heavy to bear. "And _you_!" Dean exclaimed, tackling Seth in a hug as best he could. "Way to go all Rambo on those cranks. Holy _shit_ , you blew my mind back there with your bravery, Seth."

"Yeah, that goes for me, too," Roman said. "Job well done, Rambo."

Seth blushed. "Guess I can thank my dad for something. He taught me everything I know about gun handling. And you know what? This is gonna sound really weird, but it felt strangely… _good_ doing what I did."

"What, blowing Abigail Wyatt and that creeper Braun away? That ain't strange at all."

"No, not that. Not _just_ that. I mean…last night was like working a case. Solving a mystery. Figuring out where you were. Being all sneaky in the dark with my weapon drawn. Contributing to the day-saving. I felt like a secret agent or something."

"You were!" Dean exclaimed. "You _were_ a secret agent. And you did great."

"Thanks. What I mean is, it's something I thought I was actually kinda good at. Something I might have a passion for. Solving puzzles. Aiding in criminal justice." He looked to Roman, who understood what he was getting at.

"Feel it's a calling?" Roman asked.

"Maybe not a calling. It's not that strong yet. But it's…a curiosity. An inquiry."

"Think about it. Do some research. And if it comes down to it, maybe you could."

"Do what?" Dean asked. "What am I missing here?"

"I think I know what I want to do with my life, Dean," Seth replied, "and you've helped me figure it out along the way. Saving your ass all the time, mixing brains with brawn."

"You want to be Sherlock?"

Seth cracked a grin. "Close. Maybe I go back to school again. Maybe I get a degree in criminal justice. Become a detective eventually. Maybe even an FBI agent."

"Seth, you'd _rock_ that. Seriously," Roman stated.

"You really believe that?"

"Absolutely."

"You'd make a hell of an FBI agent!" Dean said. "I mean, it would take time, but it'd be worth it."

"Of course," Seth said, nodding. "And it's not a decision I can make right this second, obviously. But like I said. It's an inquiry."

"We support you no matter what," Roman said.

"Think the college will let a three-time dropout back in the system?"

"Of course," Dean scoffed. "It's college. They don't care about your past. They just want your money."

"Major colleges care about your past," Roman pointed out.

Dean scoffed again. "Community college doesn't. And that's the first step. Like what you did that last time you tried going back to school. Get the degree there, then any college in the country will take you."

"Not _any_ college," Seth said. "But—"

"Look, I ain't a pro in the field, alright? I'm just trying to encourage you. Stop shutting me out with reality." Dean lightly kicked Seth's leg.

"It can be a reality," Roman said. "And it's exciting to think about. Hell, I feel excited _for_ you."

"Thanks, Roman," Seth said. "I'll definitely consider it."

Someone knocked on the door. Two men in suits, neither Roman nor Dean's doctors, stepped inside. Roman stepped protectively in front of Dean. An instinct by now.

"How are you boys doing?" the taller of the gentlemen asked. He had sunglasses resting on his blond head.

"Fantastic," Dean answered. Roman could almost hear an eye-roll in the word.

"I'm Detective Copeland, this is my partner Detective Reso. We've been working your case, and we have some…troubling information to pass along."

Roman's eyes narrowed. "What kind of troubling information?"

"Braun Strowman was found dead at the scene last night," Reso said, reading off a clipboard in his hands. "He was shot twice, fatally, by Mr. Rollins here." He nodded towards Seth.

Seth's face blanched. "It—it was in self-defense and I—"

"Relax, Seth. You won't be facing any charges, given the circumstances."

Seth sighed, color returning to his cheeks. "Thank God."

"But you said there were two assailants at the scene," Copeland said. "Correct?"

"Yeah, Braun and Abigail Wyatt," Roman answered. "Sister, I assumed."

"She was _not_ found at the scene last night."

Roman's insides went rigid, colder than he'd felt last night.

Seth blinked. "Excuse me?"

"We found blood on the rock from which Mr. Ambrose was allegedly pushed, but when our officers made it up there, she was gone."

"Th-that-that's _impossible_ ," Seth babbled. "I _shot_ her."

"Did you shoot her in the head? The chest?" Copeland quizzed.

"I-I can't remember." Seth rubbed the back of his neck. "The gun went off. I watched her fall. She was bleeding."

"Her body vanished by the time the boys made it up there," Reso said. "Nobody stole it away, so by reason, she must not have died, and made off on an escape herself."

"Abigail is still _alive_?" Dean whimpered. Roman snatched his hand. From here, he could feel Dean shivering.

"We have a massive manhunt on the search for her right now. Warrant out for her arrest, the works. We're doing all we can," Copeland said. "But if she's smart, she won't try to come after you. She might try to skip town. But we'll catch her."

Dean looked helplessly from Roman to Seth. Roman cleared his throat, not sure what to say but not wanting the silence to suffocate them.

"Thank you, Detectives. Please keep us updated on everything."

"We will," Reso promised. "We have your numbers. And we left ours with the doctors to pass onto you. Please call us if you need anything."

"Thanks. We will."

When the detectives left, Seth looked at Dean. "She won't come back."

"What if she does?"

"She _won't_. She may be sick and sadistic, but she's not stupid. She planned everything so carefully, back when she was just a shadow. Now she's got the entire police force on her ass. Copeland's right. She might just try fleeing town. She's got nothing left here. And as far as she knows, you're dead. She was down by the time Roman flung himself off the cliff, but she's the one who kicked you off. She'd have no reason to believe you pulled a Houdini and survived the impossible." Seth sucked in a breath. "If she _was_ gonna come after anyone, it'd be me. I'm the one who shot her, and shot Braun."

"She won't come after you," Dean said. "No way. She's gotta stay in hiding unless she wants to get her ass arrested."

"Exactly." Seth smiled. "So don't worry, Dean. _None_ of us should worry."

Something came to Roman's mind. He wanted Abigail out of the room, out of their minds, their lives. "Hey, why'd you go with the Jon Moxley alias?"

Dean winced. "'Cause I don't have insurance. But I needed treatment. I was kinda hoping you could lend me yours?"

"Sure. Of course. I mean, I'll fill the paperwork out for you, but you'll have to sign for it."

"Sure. I'll just teach myself how to write with my left hand for the first time in my life." He studied the calloused fingers of his good hand, the soft, warm skin, the tired muscle. "You useless hand, you."

Roman took the hand in a hold and kissed it.

"Hey, you made it out alright for someone who jumped his ass off a waterfall," Dean said. "You'll be challenging speeding bullets to races and getting confused for birds and planes again in no time."

"I know. But until then, I just want to rest. I'm so tired."

"Same. I say we just lie around at home in front of movies all day today. Maybe even all night tonight. And then some tomorrow."

"Lazy bastards," Seth teased.

Roman balanced himself on one foot to hold each of them in one arm. His family. His best friends. The love of his life, and a brother he never had and never knew he wanted until Seth came in. His musician and his Rollins. His world. His life.

"This is it," Roman said. "We're set for life here, guys. You and you and me. Unstoppable."

"Unbreakable," Seth said.

"A few badass motherfuckers!" Dean declared.

Roman smiled. "And nothing'll ever change it. Believe that."

* * *

 **Couldn't resist that final double cameo... Bonus points if you know who those detectives were. Won't be hard for my fellow awesome wrestling fans. ;) I'll be seeing you guys next time. Can't believe how much it hurts to bring this story to an end...ugh! Struggle is real!**


	42. Epilogue

"Ha _ha!_ Success! Eat it, haters. Suck it, all who didn't believe in me! I've come a long way to reach this point, and now…now I'm finally here— _ouch_. Damn, pan's still a little hot."

"You think?" Roman asked through a chuckle. He oscillated into the kitchen on his crutches. They were still a bit clunky under his arms, but he'd gotten used to moving with them by now. Dean placed the baking pan atop the burners. He'd made tonight's dinner—lobster mac and cheese, a recipe Seth had come across last night on Google—all by himself. For the most part. It wasn't easy to function, literally, single-handedly. Roman had helped him measure out ingredients earlier on, and Dean had finished off the rest. His off-white cast, which he'd received today, rested at his side while his "useless" left hand inspected the giant yellow and red glob.

"Talk about fancy over here," Dean said. "Seth home yet?"

"Do you _see_ him here?" Roman teased.

"Ah, so we're still all alone?" Dean leaned into Roman, dabbing his lips over the sensitive skin of his neck. "Means we can see fireworks a few hours early?"

"Wow. That was _remarkably_ corny."

"Ah, you love my corny lines."

"I do," Roman confessed. He shifted his head and seized Dean's lips in a stable kiss.

A key turned in a lock. The front door pushed open. Seth was home early because of the holiday, Roman figured.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said. "I mean, uh, hey, Seth, welcome home!"

Seth simpered at him. "Evening."

"How'd work go?" Roman asked.

"Oh, you know. Tire rotation. Oil changes. Living the dream. But I do have some good news." Seth shrugged out of his coat and boots, arranging them in the right spots in the closet. In his gloved hands, he clutched two six-packs of bottled Belgian ale. "I got an email from Summit Community College."

"What'd they say?" Roman asked. "I'm guessing I already know the answer, since you used the word 'good' right before the word 'news.'"

Seth beamed. "I'm in for next semester!"

"Yes!" Dean exclaimed, thrusting his good arm in the air. "I knew you had it in you, again."

Seth turned the beers into the fridge, grabbing one for himself first. "Yeah, I tried sending the administration office an email explaining my situation and why my GPA is absolute shit, but turns out, nah, they really don't care. As long as I can pay for my courses, I can come back without any problems. I can even apply for financial aid, since I know this is going to be kind of costly."

"Better than Roman's school," Dean pointed out.

"Yeah, SCC doesn't require you selling one of your major organs to qualify for enrollment," Roman laughed. "What classes are you gonna take? How many?"

"I don't know. I haven't done this in so long, I'm not exactly sure what to do. Especially now that I have an actual _major_."

"I'll sit down and go over everything with you. I'm used to the monotonous procedure by now."

"Thanks, Roman. I'd really appreciate it."

Roman took him in a hug, balancing on his healthy leg. "I'm proud of you, Seth Rollins."

"Thanks. You know what? I'm proud of me, too."

"So far, the new year's already looking brighter, and it hasn't even gotten here yet," Dean said.

"What is _that_?" Seth asked, eyeing the scented chunk on the pan. "It looks scrumptious."

"It's our dinner. Lobster macaroni. I made it myself," Dean bragged.

"Did you? You actually cooked?" The wonder in his voice was true, and Roman didn't blame him.

"Without burning down the apartment, _and_ with one arm constricted. What's good?"

"Great job, Dean."

The evening coursed on. Seth, Roman and Dean enjoyed their dinner in peace. Dean's face contorted at the taste of the ale. "Shit's too bitter, how do you guys even _like_ it?" He trotted to the fridge to pour himself a glass of juice instead.

After dinner, Seth washed the dishes to give Roman a chance to rest his leg. While Dean browsed the DVDs, Roman's phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered a call from Dolph.

"Hey, Dolph."

"Hey, Roman. Curtis told me about what happened…holy shit, man, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gotta stay off my foot for a little while."

"Am I getting the story right, or is he on crack? Did you _jump off Helen Hunt Falls_?"

"I did."

"And _survive_!?"

"Nah, I died at the scene, actually. You're talking to my ghost right now. I'm trying to decide whether to haunt the coffeeshop, or my apartment, or my college campus."

"I would have missed that smart-ass mouth of yours if you'd passed away, Roman."

"Aw. I would have missed you too, Dolph."

"I take it you can't come crash my New Year's Eve party, then. It's gonna be sick."

"Wish I could. Doctor's orders, though. I have to stay home."

"Shoot, man. That's just…wow. I seriously can't believe it. I heard about it from Curtis, then saw it on the news, and…" Dolph paused for so long that Roman thought the call had disconnected. "Wow."

"You're telling me." Roman smiled.

"Well…I mean, just let me know when you're better, okay? I miss seeing you at work. And you still owe me a hangout at some point."

"I know I do. I wish I'd taken you up on the offer sooner. Now I'm stuck waiting even longer. Oh, and I have a late Christmas present for you?"

"Aw, you didn't have to do that for me."

"Sure, I didn't, if I was a real bastard. Luckily I'm not."

"Yes, he is," Dean said, and Roman poked him in the side.

"Is that your boy?" Dolph asked.

"It is," Roman confirmed.

"He's alive and well?"

"Little banged up in the body and mind, but I think he's gonna be alright."

Dean flexed his uncasted arm. "Damn right, I am."

"Good deal, Roman. I'm gonna get dressed for the party, but keep in touch. Seriously. Miss ya."  
Roman was touched. He could get used to the idea of being missed. "Miss you too, buddy. Take care. I'll see you soon."

"You too, Roman."

"Oh, you own _Walk The Line_!" Dean cried as Roman ended the call. "How come I never saw this before? I love this movie."

"Do you?" Roman asked.

"Of course. Johnny Cash is, like, my hero."

"I didn't know that. Just when I think I have you all figured out, you surprise me with new information."

"Like I said, Ro. I'm a conundrum. Don't even know what's going on inside my own head. But yeah, this," he said, tapping the DVD case. "This movie is fantastic."

" _Walk The Line_ it is," Roman said.

As much as he claimed to admire the movie, Dean was asleep well before midnight. The credits rolled. Seth finished off his second beer. Roman held a slumbering Ambrose in his arms.

"Sorry this New Year's Eve isn't too thrilling," Seth said. "I'm sure you've been to hotter parties in your day."

"You kidding? I'm not exactly the party-hard type. How well do you know me?" Roman grinned at him. "I'd rather be here with my boys, warm and relaxed in front of the fire, than with anyone else in the world, any _where_ else."

"I don't know. If Ronda Rousey called me up with an invite to her place tonight, I just might forget my boys even exist."

Roman laughed. "I guess I can't blame you there. I might be gay…" He paused, sucking in his next breath slow, realizing it was the first time he was actually saying it as fact, though the fact had been well-known and plain and corroborated for quite some time now. "But Ronda Rousey is a looker."

"Yeah. Same here."

Had Seth just confessed it, too? Again, Roman was certain of it after all they'd been through…it was just strange to hear out loud. Strange and wonderful. His life in a nutshell.

He liked where he was. He liked _who_ he was, for the very first time.

Roman let Dean sleep until just before midnight. He and Seth relaxed until that point, drinking, watching provocative cartoons and repeats of news broadcasts from earlier in the evening. With three minutes until the new year, Roman gently prodded Dean's shoulder with his own. The TV was low with the screams and hollers of outside celebrators.

"Wake up, babe," Roman breathed in his ear. "Almost time."

Dean rolled over and mumbled something imperceptible.

"New Year's resolutions time," Seth said. "Come on, place your bets."

"Those are so stupid. Nobody ever follows through with them," Dean said, sitting up. His hair projected from all sorts of angles against gravity. Roman took advantage of this and skimmed his fingers through Dean's mane.

Seth almost looked insulted by Dean's words. "So? We're not like most people. Maybe we can actually establish resolutions and commit to them for the year. I know what mine is, and I know damn well already I'm gonna see it through."

"What's your resolution?" Roman quizzed.

"Pull through my first semester of college successfully. No dropping out. No quitting. No failing. Good start, right? Baby steps. Finish off a semester. See where I am. Carry on."

"That's a good one. And I know you can do it."

"Okay, fine. My resolution is to learn one new song on my guitar a week, every week, for the rest of the year. Once I'm all healed up, anyway." He shook his cast. "Maybe I can cram three or four songs into a week to make up for missed time."

"Now _that_ , you can _definitely_ do," Roman stated.

Dean radiated at his encouragement. "And the first one I'm gonna teach myself is 'Stairway to Heaven.'"

Seth whistled. "Not an easy one. But you've got it."

"What about you, Roman?" Roman nearly drowned in those eyes of his as Dean anchored a gaze into him. "What's your New Year's resolution?"

 _Get engaged_ , he thought, but something held the words back. _Let it build. Take your time. Really, truly think it over. Keep it a surprise until that day_. Instead, he opted for something simpler, something that didn't thrill him at the same time it scared the hell out of him. "Not get kidnapped by a Wyatt?" Roman chuckled. "No, but my resolution is, I want to learn something new. Take up a new hobby. Seems all I do is work, go to school, and sit at home reading comics or playing video games. I want to go more places. Travel. Learn new things I'm not required to learn for ten thousand dollars a year. I want to be more _interesting_."

"Roman, whoever says you're not interesting is a goddamn liar," Dean said. He squeezed Roman's hand. "But I guess I can see where you're coming from. Compare any lifestyle to mine, and it can seem a little dull."

"Why don't you learn guitar?" Seth suggested. "I mean, it doesn't involve traveling, but it's _something_ , right? And Dean could even teach you."

Dean's entire face ignited. "That's a _great_ idea, Seth! A pretty good start in Roman's adventure to get out more. Maybe you can start joining me downtown to play for tips. Bail me out of jail when we get arrested for it, inevitably."

Roman chuckled. "Not a bad idea at all. It _is_ a good start. I can work my way up to traveling and having adventures on the way."

"Baby steps," Seth reminded him. "We're both taking them."

"Guys, the countdown is starting!" Dean exclaimed. The countdown had been going on for the past half-minute. Roman, Seth and Dean joined in aloud from the ten-second mark. At five, Dean and Roman stared into one another. Through the eyes, straight to the soul.

"You have my heart," Roman said.

"And you have mine," Dean said softly.

" _Two, one_ …" Seth finished off.

Fireworks lit the cold night as Roman Reigns took his love Dean Ambrose in a kiss and a promise. "I'm never letting go," he said.

"Good," Dean said back, voice low, breath warm on Roman's neck. "'Cause I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

Seth allowed them the moment, the kiss of hope and bliss and eternal standing, then fit himself into the equation by leaning against Dean and rubbing Roman's arm.

"Happy New Year, guys," Seth said.

Dean lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Roman wondered if he could see anything, anyone, past the home. Past earth. Through space. He wondered what was going through Dean's mind. He'd gained everything and more, unwrapping his present that was Dean Ambrose, yet still he was anxious to learn even more. Dig a little deeper. Walk a little further.

This was just the beginning.

"It's going to be _killer_ ," Dean said.

Roman believed it.

 **The End**

* * *

 **Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. Hurts to say goodbye...but it'll make the next "hello" much sweeter. :) Join me in the upcoming sequel, "Who I Am", as we continue in the journey of the Lunatic Fringe, the Architect, and Superman himself. I can't wait.**


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